

L' N«i i 




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Book 



PRESENTED BY 

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l/^ifiyuC /rv\0^"i>4C ^^^ , < ^ 



THE 



POETI CAL WORKS 



OP 



ROBERT BURNS 




® © [E 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS. 

EDITED BY 

THE REV. ROBERT ARIS WILLMOTT. 



NEW EDITION, 

WITH NUMEROUS ADDITIONS. 



BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 

Cbe Htijcrsitie Prrsc?, CamtriUffc. 

1880. 



J^Ditato 0f tl]^ 3tm)i (^Mm ai pms. 



TO THE 



NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 

or THK 

CALEDONIAN HUNT, 



\ 



My I.ORDS AND Gentlemen, 

A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, ami whose highest ambition is to sing 
in his Country's service— where shall he so properly look for patronage as to the 
illustrious names of his native Land, — those who bear the hondurs and inherit the 
viituesof their Ancestors? The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the 
prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha— at the plough ; and threw her inspiring mantle 
over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural plea- 
sures of my native soil, in my native tongue ; I tuned my wild, artless notes, as 
she inspired. — She whispered me to come to this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, 
and lay my Song under your honoured protection : I now obey her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, my Lords 
and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, to thank you for past favours ; 
that path is so hackneyed by prostituted learning, that honest rusticity is ashamed 
of it. Nor do I present this Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, 
looking for a continuation of those favours : I was bred to the Plough, and am 
independent. I come to claim the common Scottish name with you, my illustrious 
Countrymen ; and to tell the world that I glory in the title. I come to congra- 
tulate my Country, that the blood of her ancient heroes still runs uncontamiiiated ; 
and that from your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect protec- 
tion, wealth, and liberty. In the last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes 
to the Great Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of the Universe, for your welfarw 
and happiness. 



«v DEDICA TION. 

When you go forth to awaken the Echoes, in the ancient and favourite amuse- 
ment of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party ; and may Social 
Joy await your return. When harassed in courts or camps with the josth'ngs ol 
bad men and bad measures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth attend 
your return to your native Seats ; and may Domestic Happiness, with a smihng 
welcome, meet you at your gates ! May corruption shrink at your kindling indig- 
nant glance, and may tyranny in the Ruler, and licentiousness in the Peop'e 
equally find you an inexorable foe ! 

I have the honour to be. 

With the sincerest gratitude, and highest respect. 

My Lords and Gentlemen, 

Your most devoted humble servant, 

ROBEFT BURNS, 
Edinburgh, A^ril ^ ij^:. 



PREFACE 



Thr Poems of Burns have been edited, and h'«» Life 
has been written by eminent countrymen, with a copious- 
ness of illustration and a minuteness of inquiry altogethei 
beyond my abilities and my limits. Perhaps an English 
reader sometimes thinks the work slightly overdone, and 
even feels a very languid curiosity about the character of 
" Poosie Nansie," or the pohtics of Dumfries. I have not, 
however, intentionally underrated the interest of my sub- 
ject. The Text has been carefully examined, and the 
notes convey the information which was incidentally fur- 
nished by the Poet and his Brother, and generally in their 
own language. With a hope of rendering the Scottish 
Poems less difficult to the inexperienced eye, the harder 
words are explained at the foot of the page, and, I trust, 
with sufficient accuracy. 



VI PREFACE. 

*^* Since the lamented death of Mr. Willmott, another 
edition has been called for ; and the Publishers have taken 
the opportunity of inserting varrous Poems and Songs 
of great merit, which had been omitted in previous editions. 
Many of them are accompanied by editorial annotations, 
which will be found useful in giving the dates, and explain- 
ing the circumstances under which they were originally 
written. 

To facilitate immediate and ready reference to any of 
the numerous Poems, Songs, Epigrams, &:c., scattered 
throughout the volume, the Editor has prefixed a compre- 
hensive list of Contents, and also appended at the close 
of the volume (in addition to the Glossary) two copious 
Indexes, alphabetically arranged. In this respect, nearly 
all the previous editions of the Works of Burns are ex* 
tremely defective. 

P. A NT 



CONTENTS, 



fjiFB AND Writing of Robert Burks. 



rAGB 

xxlii 



POKMS : — 

The Twa Dogs. A Tale . . 

Scotch Drink .. .. .. .. *. 

The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer to the ScoU'Jl Representatives in 

the House of Commons , . . . , , 

The Lasses of Tarbolton . . . , • . 

The Holy Fair 

Stanzas on the Death of a Favourite Daughter . . • . 

Death and Doctor Hornbook. A True Story . . • • 

The Brigs of Ayr. A Poem 

The Ordination . . . . . , . . 

To the Right Hon. Charles James Fox . . . • 

The Calf 

Stanzas to Clarinda 

To Clarinda. With a Present of a Pair of Drinking Glasses 
Address to the Deil 

The Poet's Reply to a Gentleman who had sent him a Newspaper 
The First Kiss of Affection 
The Death And Dying Words of Pool Mailie, the Author's only Pet 

Yowe. An Unco Mournfu' Tale . . . . 

Poor Mailie's Elegy .. ., ,, ,. 

To James Smith , . . . , , , , 

The Poet's Dr;am 
Lines to a Painter, whom Burns found at work on a Picture of Jacob's 

Dream .. .. ,. ,. .. 



^"» CONTENTS, 

Poems, contiuued. 

Verses on a Wag in Mauchline 

The Vision , . ,, . 

Lines written in Friars-Carse Hermitage 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous 

Tarn Samson's Elegy , . 

The Tree of Liberty , . . , 

Halloween . . . , 

The Jolly Beggars. A Cantata 

Impromptu addressed to a Young Lady in a Church who was engaged 

in searching for a Text given out by the Minister, which contained 

a Severe Denunciation on Obstinate Sinners 
Castle Gordon 
The Auld Farmer's New-Year Morning Salutation to his Anld Mare 

Maggie, on giving her the accustomed Ripp of Corn to hansel in the 

New Year 
To a Mouse, on turning her up in her Nest, with the Ploujih, Xoven 

ber, 1785 
A Winter Night . . , , 

The TarboUon Lasses . . , . 

Verses to an Old Sweetheart after her Marriage 
Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet 
The Lament. Occasioned by the Unfortunate Issue of a Friend's Amour 
Despondency. An Ode , , , , , . 

Lines to my Bed . , , , 

Winter. A Dirge . . , , 

The Cotter's Saturday Night , , 

Man was made to Mourn. A Dirge 
On the Illness of a Beloved Child 
A Prayer in the Prospect of Death . . 

Stanzas on the same occasion . . , , . . 

Verses left in the Room where the Poet Slept . . 
The First Psalm 

A Prayer, under the Pressure of Violent Anguish 
Stanzas written while under Excessive Grief 
The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm . . 
To a Mouutain Daisy, on turning one down with the Plough., in I 

1786 
To Ruin . . ' . . 

Stanzas on the Destruction of the Woods near Drumlanrig 



CONTENTS. 

PjKMS, continued. 

To Miss Logan, with Beattle's Poems, as a New-Year's Gift, Janusiy t 

1787 

Epistle to a Young Friend. May, 1786 
On a Scotch Card, gone to the West Indies 
To a Hnggls . . 
A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 

To a , on seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church 

Lines wiitten at Kenmore, Taymouth 

Address to Edinburgh 

Epistle to John Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard 

To the Same 

The Two Lawyers, in the Parliament House at Edinburgh 

To William Simpson, Ochiltree 

Postscript . . . . . . , 

Epistle to John Rankine, enclosing some Poems 

Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson, a Gentleman who held the Pa 

tent for his Honours immediately from Almighty God 
The Epitaph . . 

Lament of ISLir}', Queen of Scots, on the approach of Spring 
Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. Oswald 
Epistle to R. Graham, Esq. , . 

To Robert Graham, of Fintry, Esq. . . 
Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn 
Lines, sent to Sir John Whiteford, of Whiteford, Bart., with the fore 

going Poem . . , . 

Tarn O' Shanter. A Tale 
Stanzas intended to be written below the Picture of a Noble Earl 
On the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations through Scotland, collectin 

th.t Antiquities of that Kingdom 
On seeing a Wounded Hare limp by me, which a fellow had just shot at 
Address to the Shade of Thomson, on crowning his Hust at lid 

Roxburghshire, with Bays 
To Miss Cruikshank, a very Young Lady; written on the Blank Leaf of 

a Book presented to her by th'e Author 
On Reading, in a Newspaper, the Death of John M'Leod, Esq., brother 

to a Young Lady, a particular Friend of the Author . . 
The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to the noble Duke of Athole 
Lament on Fergusson . . . . 

When Guilford good oitr Pilot stood. A Fragn? ent 

b 



n 



^ CONTENTS. 

PoBMS, continued. PARK 

My Tocher's the Jewel .. .. ,. ,. ••99 

Address to the Tooth-ache ; written when the Author was grievously 

tormented by that Disorder . . . . . , . . 99 

On the Birth of a Posthumous Child, born in peculiar circumstances of 

Family Distress . . . . . . . . . . 100 

Written with a Pencil, standing by the Fall of Fyers, near Loch-Ness 100 

Second Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet , . . . . . loi 

The Inventory ; in answer to the usual Mandate sent by a Surveyor of the 
Taxes, requiring a Return of the Number of Horses, Servants, Car- 
riages, etc., kept . . . , . . . . . . £oi 

The Whistle. A Ballad . . . . . . . . . . 102 

To Dr. Blacklock . , . . . . . . . . 105 

Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, Ellisland . . . . . . 105 

Elegy on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo . . . . . . 106 

Lines t« a Medical Friend, inv'ting him to attend an Annual Masonic 

Meeting . . . . . . , . . . . , 107 

Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer . . . . . . 107 

The Rights of Woman. Prologue spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her 

Benefit Night . . . . . . . . . . 108 

Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle, on her Benefit Night, December 4, 

1795, at the Theatre, Dumfries . . . . . . . . 108 

Stanzas addressed to Miss Ferrier, inclosing an Elegy on Sir James 

Hunter Blair . . . . . . . . . . log 

Verses to a Young Lady, with a Present of Songs . . . . 110 

Poem on Pastoral Poetry . . . . . . . . , . no 

Written on the Blank Leaf of the Last Edition of his Poems, presented to 

the Lady whom he had often celebrated under the name of Chlorir, in 
Poetical Address to Mr. William Tytler, with the Present of the Bard's 

Picture . . . . . . . . . . ..Ill 

Sketch.— New-Year Day. To Mrs. Dunlop .. .. .. na 

E:<tempore, on Mr. William Smellie, author of the Philosophy of Natural 
History, and Member of the Antiquarian and Royal Societies of 

Edinburgh . . . . . . . . . . . . iia 

Inscription for an Altar to Independence, at Kerroughtry, Seat of Mr. 

Heron . . . . . . . . . . . . 213 

Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice . . . . , . 113 

Sonnet, on the Death of Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel . . 113 

Impromptu, on Mrs. Riddel's Birth-Day, November 4, 1793 . , 114 

Tc Miss Jessy I ,ewars, Dumfries, with Books which the Bard presented ivtr xii 



CONTENTS. XI 

Pr EMS, continued. PS j« 

Extempore to Mi. Syme, on refusing to Dine with him, after having 

bcin promised the First of Company and the First of (.;ookery . . 114 
To Mr Syme, with a Present of a Dozen of Porter 
Sonnet, on hearing a Thrush sing in a Morning Walk . . . . 114 

Poem, addressed to Mr. Mitchell, Collector of Excise .. ..115 

To a Gentleman whom he had Offended . . . . . . 115 

Poem on Life, addressed to Colonel dt Peyster, Dumfries . . 115 

To Rob«rt Graham, Esq., of Fintry, on receiving a Favour , . ii6 

Epitaph on a Friend .. .. .. .. ..116 

Epistle to William Creech . , .. .. .. ..116. 

A Grace before Dinner . . . . . . . . . . 117 

Inscription on the Tombstone erected by Burns to the Memory of Fer- 

gusson 
A Verse composed and repeated by Bums, to the Master of the House, on 
tak-ng leave at a place in the Highlands, where he had been hospit- 
ably entertained 
Liberty. A Fragment 
Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux 
Answer to Verses addressed to the Poet by the Guidwife of Wauchope- 



House 



19 



Lines on viewing Stirling Castle . . . . . . , . 119 

To J. Lapraik . . 

To the Rev. John M'Math, enclosing a Copy of Holy Willie's Prayer, 

which he had requested . . . . . , . . 12c 

To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Mauchline ; recommending a Boy . . 122 

Epistle to Mr. M'Adam of Craigen Gillan, in answer to an obliging Let- 
ter he sent at the commencement of the writer's Poetic Career 
To Captain Riddel, Glenriddel. Extempore Lines on returning a News- 
paper . . . . . . . . . . . . 123 

To John Maxwell, of Terraughty, on his Birthday . . . . 123 

The Vowels. A Tale . . . . . . . . , . 123 

Prologue for Mr. Sutherland's Benefit-Night, Dumfries . . . . 124 

Elegy on the Year 1788. Sketch . . . . . . . . 125 

Delia. An Ode . . . . . , , . . . 125 

Sketch . . . . . . . . . . . . 126 

Verses written under the Portrait of Fergusson, the Poet, in a Copy of 
that Author's Works, presented to a Young Lady in Edinburgh, 
March 19th, 1787 . . . . . . . . . , 126 

Lanent; written at a time when the Poet was about to leave Scotland 126 



CONTENTS. 



Poems, conthmed. fAGB 

On the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair . . . . , . 127 

rhe Poet's Welcome to his Illegitimate Child , . . . . , 128 

Letter to John Goudie, Kilmarnock, on the Publication of his Essays . . 128 

Letter to J imes Tait, Glenconner . . . . . . . . 129 

Epistle from Esopus to Maria .. .. .. ..130 

On a Suicide . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 

A Farewell .. .. .. .. .. .. 131 

The Farewell . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 

Epiitle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry ; on the close of the Dis- 
puted Election between Sir James Johnstone and Captain Miller, 

for the Dumfries District of Boroughs , . 

Epistle to Major Logan . . . . , . . . 

Epitaph on the Poet's Daughter ... . . . . 

Epitaph on Gabriel Richardson . . . . . , 

Epistle to Hugh Parker . . . . . , . . 

Address of Beelzebub to the President of the Highland Society 

To Mr. John Kennedy . . . . . . 

On the Death of Robert Dundas, Esq., of Arniston, late Lord President 

of the Court of Session . . , . 

To John M'Murdo, Esq. . . 

On the Death of a Lap-Dog, named Echo 

The Kirk's Al-u-m. A Satire . . , , 

Daintie Davie . . . . . . , . 

The Selkirk Grace 

Elegy on the Death of Peg Nicholson . . 

On seeing Miss Fontenelle in a Favourite Character 

The League and Covenant . . . . , . 

On Miss Jessy Lewars . . . . . . . . 

Epitaph on Miss Jessy Lewars . . . . , , 

The Recoverj' of Jessy Lewars ,. ,. ,, 

The Toast 

The Kirk of Lamington . . , . , , , . 

Inscription on a Goblet . . . , . . . , 

To Miss C. Written on a Blank Leaf of one of Miss Hannah More 
Works .. .. 

The Book-Worm.s . . . . ' . . . . 

Willie Chalmers . . . . , , . . 

On RoV^rt Riddel 



CONTENTS. xiii 

Pcm*is, continued. PAGB 

To John Taylor ., .. .. •• . • i*3 

Lines written on a Bank-Note . . . . • • ••'43 

Burns — Extempore . . . . • • • • • • '43 

Remorse .. .« •• •• •• •• ^43 

To .. .. .. .. .. ..144 

In vain would Prudence . . . . • • « . . . i44 

Though Fitkle Fortune . . . . . . . . . . i44 

I burn, I burn .. •• •• •• .« '45 

Tarn the Chapman .. .. .. .. ..i45 

To Dr. Maxwell, on Miss Jessy Staig's Recovery . . . . i4S 

The Parvenu . . . . . . . . . . . . MS 

To the Owl .. .. .. .. .. ..MS 

Was e'er Puir Poet . . . . . . . • . . 146 

There's Naethihg like the Honest Nappy . . . . . . 146 

To the Ruins of Lincluden Abbey . . . . . . . . 146 

Prologue, spoken by Mr. Woods on his Benefit Night, Monday, April 

16,1787 .. .. .. .. .. .. M7 

Tragic Fragment •• •• •• •. .« '48 

O can ye Labour lea .. .« .. •• •• '4* 

S ONGS : — 

The Lass o' Ballochmyle . . . . . . .".130 

Song of Death . . . . . . . . . . 151 

My ain Kind Dearie ! O . . . . . . . • , . 151 

Auld Rob Morris , . . . . • . • , . 151 

Naebody .. .. .. •• •• •• 'Sa 

My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing . . . . . . . . 152 

Duncan Gray .. ".. .. •• •• .. 'S* 

O Poortith . . . . . . . . . . . . 15s 

Galla Water . . . . . . . . . . . . '53 

Lord Gregory .. •• .. •• •• •• '54 

Open the Door to me. Oh ! . . . . . • . . 154 

Meg o' the Mill . . . . . . . • . . '54 

Jessie .. •« •• •• •• .• '55 

Wandering Willie .. .. .. ... . . '55 

Logan P>raes .. .. •• .. .. '55 

There was a Lass .. .. •• •• .« '5^ 

Phillis the Fair . . , . . . . . . . 156 

By Allan Stream . . .... . . > . '57 



*'^ CONTENTS, 


Songs, continued. pagi 


Whistle, and I'll come to you, my Lad . 






• 157 


Husbjnd, Husband, cease yoiu: Strife . 






. »S8 


Had I a Cave 






. 158 


Deluded Swain . . , , , 






. X58 


Thine am I, my Caltliful fair . . , 






. 159 


Wilt Thou be my Dearie ? 






. 159 


Here is the Glen . , , . 






. XS9 


On the Seas and Far Away , . , 






. 159 


Hark ! the Mavis 






. 160 


She says she lo'es me best of a* . , 






. i6o 


My Handsome Nell 






. 161 


How Lang and Dreary . . , . 






. x6i 


I .assie wi' the Lint-white Locks • . , , 






. 162 


1 he Auld Man 






. 163 


The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress 






. 162 


Contented wi' Little . , , , 






. 163 


Farewell, thou Stream 






. 163 


My Nannie's awa . . , , , 






. 163 


Sweet fa's the Eve . . . , , 






. 164 


O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet , , . 






. 164 


Twas na her bonnie Blue E'e , . , 






. 165 


Their Groves o' sweet Myrtles 






. i6s 


Address to the Woodlark 






. i6s 


How cruel are the Parents , , , 






. 166 


Mark yonder Pomp , . , , , 






. 166 


I see a Form, I see a Face , , . 






. 166 


O bonnie was yon Rosy Brier , , , 






. 166 


Forlorn, my Love . . , , , 






. 167 


Last May a braw Wooer . . , , , 






. 167 


Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher , , , 






. 168 


Altho' thou maun never be mine . . . 






. 168 


TheBirksof Aberfeldy .. 






. 169 


The Young Highland Rover . . , 






. 169 


Stay, my Charmer . . . , , 






. 169 


Full well thou know'sl , . , , , 






. 169 


Strathallan's Lament . . . . • 






. 170 


Raving Winds around her blowmg . . , 






. 170 


Musing on the Roaring Ocean . , . 






. 170 








. »tB 



CONTE.VTS. 



XV 



, tontinued. 
Pegj^y's "^harins . . . . 

The Lazy Mist 

A Rose-bud by my Early Walk 
Tibbie, I hae seen the day .. 

I love my Jean . . . . 

O, were I on Parnassus' Hill • . 

The P.li.s>fLd Day 

The Braes o' IJailochmyle . . 

The Happy Trio . . . 

The Ijlue-oyed Lassie 

John Anderson, my Jo . . . . 

Tarn Glen . . . . . . 

Gane is the Day . . . ; 

What can a ^'oung Lassie do wi* an Auld Man 

O, for Ane-arid-twenty, Tarn 

The bonnic Wee 'I'hing . . . , 

The IJank.s of NIth 

Bessy and Iier Spinnin Wheel . . 

Country Lassie . . . . 

Fair Eliza 

She's Fair and I'ause . . . . 

The Posie 

The P.anks o' Doon 

Gloomy December . . . . 

P>elKi!d the Hour 
Willie's Wife . . 
Afton Water . . . . . . 

Louis, wh.ii reck I by thee . . 

I'onnie Ikll . . . . . • 

l'":>r the sake of Somebody . . 

O May, thy Morn 

1'he l.:>vc!y Lass of Inverness . . 

A Ked, Red Rose 

O, wat ye wha"s in yon Town . . 

A \'isio!i . . . . • • 

O wtMi thou in the Cauld Bla^t . . 

The Highl.i-.ii! Lassie . . ., 

Tockty's ta'ea the Parting Kiss . « 

P«:Kgy'» Chaniis . . • • 



PAGB 

. 171 

. 171 

. 171 

. 17a 

. 17a 

• 173 

• »73 
. 173 
. 1 73 
. 174 

• 174 
. 174 
. 175 
. 173 
. 173 
. 176 
. 176 
. 176 

• 177 

• 177 
. 178 
. 178 
. 178 

• »79 
. 179 
. iSo 
. iSo 
. iSi 



182 
183 
.83 
183 
184 
t&4 



CO NT. E NTS. 



SoKtss, eontinued. 

Up in the Morning early 
Tho' cruel Fate 
I dream'd I lay where Flowers were springing 
Bonnie Ann . . . . 

My bonnie Mary 
My Heart's in the Highlands 
There's a Youth in this City 
The rantin Dog the Daddie o't 
I do confess th^u art sae fair 
Yon wild Mossy Mountains 
Wha is that at n y Bower Door? 
The bonnie blink o' Mary's E'e 
Farewell to Nancy 
The bonnie Lad that's far awa 
The Gowden Locks of Anna 
Postscript 
Out over the Forth 
Banl s of Devon 
Adown winding Nith 
The Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman 
Blithe hae I been on yon Hill 
O were my Love yon Lilac fair 
Come, let me take thee 
Where are the Joys 
O saw ye my Dear 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 
My Chloris . . . , 

Charming Month of ALay 
Let not \V^onian e'er complain 
O Philly 

John Barleycorn . . 

Canst thou leave me thus . . 
On Chloris being 111 
The Rigs o' Barley 
Farewell to Eliza 
My Nannie, O . . 

Green grow the Rashes. A Fragment 
Now Wesihn Winds 
The Big-beihed Bottle 



CO YTENTS. 

Songs, continued. 

The Author's Farewell to his Native Countrj' . . 

The Farewell. To the IJiethren of St. James's Lodge Tarbolton 

And maun I still on Menie doat 

Highland Mary 

Aiild L.ing Syne 

Banno(k!>inn. Robert Bruce's Address to his Army 

The Gallant Weaver . . . , , , 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire , . , , 

For a' that and a' that . . , . , , 

To Mr. Cunningham . . . . , , 

Why, why tell thy Lover . . 

Caledonia 

On the Battle of Sheriff-Muir, between the Duke of Argjlcand the Earl 

of ALir 
The Dumfries Volunteers . . 
O, wha is she that lo'es me . . 

Captain Grose . , . . . , 

Whistle owre the lave o't . . . , , , 

Young Jockey . . 
M'Pherson's Farewell . , 

The Dean of Faculty. A New Ballad 
ril aye ca' in by yon Town . , , , 

A Bottle and Friend . . . , , , 

I'll kiss thee yet 

On Cessnuck- J5anks . . . . , . 

Prayer for Mary , . 

Yovmg Peggy 

There'll never be Peace till Jamie comes Hame 
Ihcre was a Lad . . 

To Mary 
Mary Morison . . 

The Sodger's Return . . . . , , 

A .Molher's Lament for the Death of her Sou . . 
My Father was a Farmer . . . . . , 

Bonnie Lesley . , . , 

Amaug the Trees 

When fu-st I came to Stewart Kyle . . 
On Sensibility. To my dear and much-honoured Friend, Mrs Dun- 
lop, of Dunlop 



xvn 

PAGB 

198 
193 
199 
200 

»oo 
201 
201 
201 
202 
202 



9 3 

204 
205 

203 

206 
ao6 
206 
907 
307 
207 
207 

2o3 
2o3 

aog 
aog 
2x0 
210 
210 

211 
211 

2ia 

213 
213 
213 

ai| 



xviii CONTENTS. 




Songs, continued. 


^J^'^fl 


Monlgomcrio's Peggy . , . . , . , , 


. . 214 


On 5\ l^ai'k of Flowers 


. . »14 


O raging Fortune's withering Blast . . 


. . 214 


Evan Hanks . . . . . . , . . . 


. . 214 


Women's Minds . . . . , . 


. . 2If 


To Mary in Heaven 


. 215 


To Mary 


. 216 


O leave Novels 


. . 216 


Address to General Dumourier. A Parody on Robin Adair 


. 216 


Sweetest May . . 


. . 216 


One Night as I did wander 


. 216 


The Winter it is past . . . . . . 


. . 217 


Fragment . . . . . . . . 


. . 217 


The Chevalier's Lament . . . . . . . . 


• 217 


Ihe Helles of Mauchhnc .. .. .. ,. 


• ='7 


Yc hae lien a' wrang, I.assie . . . . . . 


. 2l3 


Here's a Health to them lliat's awa . . 


. . 218 


Damon and SyKia . . . . . . . . 


. 2l3 


My Lady's (low n there's Gairs upon't . . . . 


. 218 


O aj-e my Wife slie dang me . . . . . . 


. . 2:9 


The Hanks of Nith. A Hallad 


. . 219 


Bonnie Peg . . . . . . . . . . 


. . 219 


O lay thy Loof in mine. Lass 


. . 219 


O Giiid Ale comes 


. . 220 


O why the Deuce. Extempore 


• . 21'0 


Polly Stewart . . 


. . 220 


Robin Shure in Hairst 


. . 220 


The Five Carlins. An Election Ballad 


. 220 


The Deuks dang o'er my Daddie . . • . . . 


. . 222 


The L:iss that made the Bed to me . . . . 


. 222 


The Union . . . . . . . . 


. 223 


There was a Bonnie Lass . . 


. 223 


My Harry was a Gallant gay . . . . 


. 223 


The Hermit . . . . . . . . 


. 223 


Tibbie Dunbar . . . . . . . . 


. 224 


Wee Willie 


. 224 


Craigie-Burn Wood . , . . • . . * 


. 224 


Here's his Health in Water . . . . 


. 225 


As down the Burn they took their Way 


. 2aj 



CONTENTS. 



XIX 



Bongs, continued. 
Lady Onlie 
As I was a waiick-ring 
Bannocks o' Bai ley 
Otir Thrisslcs flourished fresh and fair 
Peg-a-Ranisey 

Come Boat ine o'er to Charlie 
Braw Lads of Gal'.a Water 
Coming through the Rye 
The Lass of Ecclefechan 
Had I the Wyte 
Hea Baloii 
Her Daddie forbad 
Here's to tliy Health, my Bonnie Lass 
Hey, the Dusty Miller 
The cardin' o't 
The Joyful Widower . . 

I'hcnicl Menzie's lionnie NLiry 
The Farewell . . 
It is na, Jean, thy Bonnie Face 
Jamie, come try nie 
Landlady, count the Lawin 
My Love she's hut a Lassie yet 
My Heart was ancc 
Lovely Da vies 
Kenmure's on and awa 
Ihe Captain's Lady 
Lady Mary-Ann 
The Highland Widow's Lament 
Merry hae I been teolhin' a Heckle 
Rattlin', Roarin' Willie 
O Mally^s meek, MMy\ sweet 
Sae far awa 

steer her up . . . . 
O, whare J.id ye get . . 

1 he Pi'te Cham]M'tre 
Simmer's a pleasant 'Jime 

The Blud<i-red Ruse at Yule may blaw 
The Higl.ljial Laddie 
The Cooper o' Caddie 



PAGE 
225 
225 

, 226 
226 

, 226 
227 

, 227 

. 227 



228 
228 
229 
229 
229 
230 
230 
230 
231 
231 
231 

233 
232 

233 
233 
234 
234 

234 



^36 
236 

237 
277 

31| 



XX CONTENTS. 


SoKGS, cotttmued. pa(.b 


The Tailor 


238 


Nithsdale's Welcome Hame 






. 7->3 


The lilher Morn 






. 238 


The Carle of Kellyburn Braes 






. 239 


There was a Lass . . , . . 






. 240 


The Ploughman . , , , 






. 240 


The Carles of Dysart 






. 24X 


Weary fn' j-ou, Duncan Gray 






. 241 


My Hoggic . . . . . . . 






. 241 


Where hae ye been . . . . . 






. 242 


Cock up your Beaver 






. 24a 


The Heron Ballads 






. 24s 


Tht Election . . 






. 24? 


An excellent New Song . . 






. 244 


YeSonsofOldKillie 






. 244 


Ye Jacobites by Name . . . . . 






. 245 


Song— Ah, Chloris 






. 245 


Extempore Answer to an Invitation . . . 






. 245 


Katharine JafTray . . . . . 






.. 246 


The Collier Laddie 






.. 246 


When I think on those Happy Days 






.. 246 


Eppie M'Xab . . 






.. 246 


To Chloris 






. . 247 


An' ! my Eppie 






. . 247 


Gudee'n to you, Kimmer . . , 






• . 247 


O wat ye wha that lo'es me . . . 






. 247 


There's New<;, Lasses 






. . 248 


O that 1 had ne'er been ^Larried 






.. 248 


Frae the Friends and Land I love 






.. 248 


Scroggam 






. . 249 


The Tears I shed 






. . 249 


The Twa Herds 






. . 249 


E'ICRAMS, ElMTAPHS, &C. :— 


Holy Willie's Prayer, an Epigrammatic Satire . . . . . . 251 


Epitaph on Holy Willie . . . . . . . . . . 252 


Lines written Extempore in a Lady's Pocket-Eook . . . . 255 


Verses addressed to J. Rankine . . , 


. 


. 


. . asj 



CONTENTS, 



Epigrams, Efitaphs, &c., continued. pagb 
On scaring son^e Water Fowl in Loch-Turit, a wild scene amrsng the 

Hills of Ochtertyre . . . . . . . . . . 253 

A Toast . . . . . . . . . . . . 253 

Epigram . . . . . . . . . . . . 254 

Another . . . . . . . . . . . . 254 

On seeing the Beautiful Scat of Lord Galloway . , . . . . 254 

On the same .. .. .. .. .. .. 254 

On tlic same . . . . . . . . . . . . 254 

To the same, on the Author being threatened with his Resentment .. 254 

Verses to J. Rankine . . . . . . . , . . 254 

Extemptiraneous Effusion, on being appointed to the Excise . . 255 

On hearing that there was Falsehood in the Rev. Dr. B 's very 

Looks . . . . . . . . . . . 2SS 

Poverty . . . . . . . . . . . . 255 

On a Schoolmaster in Cleish parish, Fifeshire . . . . . . 255 

Lines written and presented to Mrs, Kemble, on seeing her in the 

Character of Yarico . . . . . . . . . . 255 

Lines written on a Window at the King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries . . 255 

Lines written on the Window of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries . . 256 

Lines written under the Picture of the celebrated Miss Burns . . 256 

Epigram on Elphinstone's Translation of Martial's Epigrams . . 256 

Epitaph on a Country Laird, not quite so wise as Solomon . . . . 256 

Epitaph on wee Johnny . . . . . . , . , . 256 

Epitapli on a celebrated ruling Elder . . . . . . 256 

Epitaph for Robert Aiken, Esq. . . . . . . . . 256 

Epitaph for Gavin Hamilton, Esq. . . . . . . . . 256 

Epitaph on my Father . . . . . . . . . . 256 

Epitaph on John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline . . . . , , 257 

Ejtitaph on John Bushby, Writer in Dumfries . . . . . . 257 

A Bard's Epitaph . . . . . . . . , . 257 



Gl.OSSABY 

Index to the Poems, Epigrams, and Songs 
Index to the First Lines . . *. 



258 
281 
>8« 



LIFE AND WRITINGS 



ROBERT BURNS 



Upon a winter day of 17S6-7, the boy JcfTrey stopped in the Hi^h-f-treet ol 
Edinburgh to stare at a niau whose appearance j;rf.ally slri'.ck hiai. A shop- 
keeper, standing at his door and observing the boy's look of wonder, tapped liim 
on the shoulder, saying, "Aye, laddie, ye may weel look at that man — he is 
Robert liiirns." Since that day, admiration has shown itself in every shape, the 
most touching and the most grotesque, from the panegyric of Wordsworth to the 
phrensy of Wilson, rolling himself on the spot where "Tarn U'Shanter" was 
composed. 

Robert Burns was born January 25th, 1759, the eldest child of William and 
Agnes liurns, or Unrness, as they were accustomed to spell the name. His 
falheri bailiff and ganlener of a country gentleman, Mr. Fergusun, rented a few 
acres of land, on which he had built a small hovel of clay and straw. It stood by 
the roadside, a Scotch mile and a half from the town of Ayr, :uid near the fan)ous 
AUoway Kirk. Robert was sent to school before his sixth year, an<l soon found 
a 7calous instructor in John Murdoch, who was chosen, a few months afterwards, 
to replace the former teacher. We arc told by Gilbert I'urns, that his brother 
greatly benefited by the lessons in grammar, and became " remarkable for the 
fluency and correctness of his expressions." He re.ad the few books that came in 
his way with much pleasure and improvement. Murdocli's library was not nch, 
but it contained a " Life of Hannibal," which gave to the ideas of liurns fuch a 
inilit.ary turn th.at he used to strut up antl down after the recruiting drnin and 
bagpipe, and wish himself tall enough to be a soklier. 'I'he warlike ardour was 
heightened, when, later in youth, he borrowed the story of WulL.ce from tho 
Vlacksniith, and walkei half-a-dozen miles, 011 a summer day, " to pay his respecU 



- - .- ! 

«iv LIFE AND WRITINGS 

to I^glen Wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did lo Ix>ietlO.* 
In truth, we might say of him, in poet's words, — 

" He had small need of books ; for many a tale. 
Traditionary, round the mountains hung, 
And many a legend, peopling the dark woods, 
Nourished Imagination in her growth, 
And gave the mind that appieliensive power, 
l>y which she is made quick to recognize 
The moral properties and scope of things." 

Bums tells us, in his deh'ghtful " Confessions"— " In my infant and bcyish 
days, too, I owed nuicli to an old woman who resided in the family, remarkable 
for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest col- 
lection in the country of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, 
witches, warlocks, spunkics, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, 
Cantraii>s, giant.-;, ench mted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated 
the latent seeds of poetry ; but had so strong an effect on my imagination, that to 
this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious 
places; and though nt)body can be more sceptical than I am in such matters, yet 
it often takes .in effort of philosophy to shake off these idle terrors. The earliest 
composition that I recollect taking pleasure in, was ' The Vision of Mirza,* and 
a hynm of Addison's, beginning, ' How are thy servants blest, O Lord !' I par- 
ticularly remember one half-stanza which was music to my boj'ish ears : — 

* For though on dreadful sxhirls we hung 
High on the broken wave — .*" 

His memory was strong, and, when he was in Edinburgh, he repeated to Mr. 
Stewart some long ballads in the Scottish dialect which, in childhood, he had learned 
from his mother. And thus, though he " cost the schoolmaster some thrashings," he 
grew uj) an excellent linglish scholar, and by the time that he was ten or eleven 
years old, he liad obtained a critical acquaintance with substantives, verbs, and 
participles ; nor was he without robuster training, for in the first season that he 
held the plough, "he made a shift" to unravel "Euclid" by his father's hearth. 

When the period drew nigh that the boy, in his own strong words, must have 
marched off to be one of trie little underlings about a farm-house, William F>urns 
ventured upon a speculation, which, he hoped, might enable him lo k-r-ep his chil- 
dren .at home longer. His employer had a farm. Mount Oliplnros C4.D!prisiftg 
eighty or ninety English acres, and lie accepted William burns as :h» ^^-jiaiil. at a 
tent, for the first six years, of forty poimds : moreover, he assistcl »bi ^^u •luii.ei 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xxr 

iz jirovide the necessary stock. The family went to their new nbode, Whitsuntide, 
Xj6'i. W.riani Burns was a well-informed and thoughtful man, and turned thi 
lonely life of his children to good account. In the winter evenings he taught 
arithmetic and geography to the boys, and procured from a book society in Ayr, the 
works of Derhain and Ray upon the Wisdom and Power of God. Bettor books 
he could scarcely have found ; and Gilbert assures us that his brother read them 
with eagerness. Stackhouse's ** History of the Bible" was also a treasure, for its 
'jifjrmation is large and curious. A fortunate accident increased his wealth : a 
relation wanting to purchase a 'Complete Letter Writer," the sliopmnn, by 
|ii stake, as Gilbert tells us, produced " A small Collection of Letters, by the most 
cniincit Writers, with a few sensible Directions for attaining an easy Epistolary 
Style.' }ie adds — " This book was to Robert of the greatest consequence." 

Between his thirteenth and fourteenth years, the poet's handwriting was inucb 
improved by a few lessons in the parish school of Dalryniple ; and about the same 
time "a bookish acquaintance" of their father obtained for the brothers " a read- 
ing of two volumes of Richardson's ' Pamela ;'" and Murdoch, then the teacher of 
English in Ayr, sent the works of Pope. Gilbert writes : — " I'he summer after 
wt had been at Dalrymple school, my father sent Robert to Ayr to revise his 
English grammar with his former teacher. He had been there only one week, 
when he was obliged to return, to assist at the harvest. When the harvest was 
over he went back to school, where he remained two weeks; antl this completes 
the account of his school education, e.vcept one grammar ([uarler sonic time after- 
wards, that he attended the parish school of Kirk Oswald where he lived with a 
brother of my mother) to learn surveying." Murdock happened to be learning 
French, and he generously imparted his knowledge to his pupil, who entered on 
the study with such zeal, that in the second week he assaulted " Telemachus." 
" But now," in the swelling language of the pedagogue, " the plains of Mount 
Oliphant began to whiten, and Robert was summoned to relinquish the pleasing 
scenes that surrounded the grotto of Calypso." He took back with him a French 
granunar, and the beautiful tale of Ftnelon ; and, in a little time, by the help oi 
these books, he was able to read .and understand any French authors who fell in 
his way. An attack upon Latin was not etjually successful ; his perseverance 
seldom outlasting a week, and the study being regarded .as a sort of penance, or 
refuge in iil-humour. He used it for a cold-bath. This, writes the Kiirick Shep- 
herd with plea.-.ant confidence, is exceedingly good, and rates the Latin much as I 
have always estimated it. English literature, however, retained it.-, fail cjiarni, 
and the love was nurtured by the kindness of a widow lady, Ahs. I'atcrson, v.hu 
lent Pope's translation of Homer, and the " Spect.ator," to the youlhtul student. 

Mount Oliphant wanted every gleam to cheer it. The parish contained no 
Cu ai so intractable ; the soil being almost the poorest to be found ULd» the piotigik 

c 



XXVI i^jpE AND WRITINGS 

On the part cf Jie family, no effort was wanting. Ever>' mem')er of it taxed his 
Btrcngtii to the utmost. Robert was the principal labourer, Gilbert diiving the 
plough, and helping him to thrash the com. The food of the hermit was indoors 
as well as the gloom, butcher's meat being quite unknown. 

In this dreary weather Burns reached his sixteenth year, toiling and sad- 
hearted, imti. in the harvest-field Love found him. He relates liis first passion : 
— "You kncvv our country custom of coupling a man and woman together as 
partners in the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my partner was a 
bewitching creature, a year younger than myself. My scarcity of English denies 
me tlie power of doing her justice in that language ; but you know the Scottish 
idiom — siie was Adotinie, s'U'fct, sonsie lass. In short, she altogetlier, unwittingly 
to herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, which, in spite of acid dis.ippoint- 
ment, gin-horse prudence, and book-worm philosophy, I liold to be the first of 
human joys, our dearest blessing here below ! How she caught the contagion I 
cannot tell : you medical people talk much of infection from breathing the same 
air, the touch, &c. ; but I never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did not 
know myself why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, when returning in the 
evening from our labours; why the tones of her voice made my heart-strings 
thrill like an ^Eolian harp ; and particularly why my pulse beat such a furious 
rattan when I looked and fingered over her little hand, to pick out the cruel nettle- 
stings and thistles. Among her other love-inspiiing qualities, she sung sweetly; 
and it was her favourite reel to which I attempted giving an embodied vehicle in 
rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could make verses like 
printed ones composed by men who had Greek and Latin ; but my girl sung a 
song, which was said to be composed by a small country laird's son, on one of his 
father's maids, with whom he was in love I and I saw no reason w hy 1 might not 
rhyme as well as he ; foi, excepting that he could smear sheep, and cast peats, his 
father living in the moor-lands, he had no more scholar-craft than myself." 

And here I am reminded of that sweet passage in Virgil, which Mr. Rogers 
thought so true to nature, that he must have drawn it from early recollections ; — 
" You were little when I first saw you. You were with your mother, gathering 
fruit in our orchard, and I was your guide. I was entering my thirteenth year, 
^d just able to reach the bouglis from the ground." 

At the end of six years, William Burns endeavoured lo find a farm of happier 
f^'omise, but he sought it in vain, and, continuing his anxious toils thruiigli five 
ytars, he removed, Whitsuntide, 1777, to the larger farm uf Lochlea, in the parish 
of Tarbolton, There the first four years passed in comfort, until the want of 
a written agreement involved the landlord and the ten.'uit in legal disputes ; and 
during the long period of ihrse years, William Burns was *' lossing^ and v tirliog 
« the vertex." 



OF ROBER T B URNS. xxvii 

The Jittle chapter of Lochlea includes some important pasf.ages in the sliry of 
Pnrns for there his good an^'. bad blossoms began to set with large promise of 
fruit. Although he confesses himself to have been the most ungainly lad in the 
pari;:h, his mind was growing into shape. He was familiar with the "' Spectator," 
ai»d he carried a collection of songs in all his field-work, poring over them as he 
drove his cart. Slowly, too, the outward man improved, and a sjireading rumoui 
of his " book knowledge" made him a welcome guest. But his chief fame w as of 
another kind Tarbolton was not less amorous than other country places in 
Scotland, and Robert became the confidant of the parish. He informs us tliat 
Lis curiosity, zeal, and dexterous boldness recommended him for a comrade in 
everj'love ad> enture ; and that the secrets of Tarbolton hearts were as gratify.'ng 
to him as the intrigues of Europe are to the statesman. 

In an evil hour Hums turned fla.vdresser, in the small town of Irvine, where he 
r»inted a room at a shilling a week. His health and his spirits seem to have been 
much disordered at this time. He speaks of his sleep as a little sounder, :dt hough 
ihc weakness of his nerves troubled his whole body at the least anxiety and alarm. 
He despairs of making a figure in the world ; '• being neither formed for the bustle 
of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay ;" and when he "glimmered" a little into 
the future, the only praspect was poverty and contempt. In the midst '>f the>e 
doubts and fears, the flax business was brought to a sudden close ; for while he 
was giving a welcome carousal to the new year, the shop took fire, and I '.urns 
found himself among the ashes, and, like a true p<iet, without a sixpemc. His 
Uioral loss at Ayr hatl, probably, been larger than his commercial; for in a yoiuiR 
man, whom an American privateer had lately stripped and set ashore, he met a 
companion and a tempter whose practice appears to have kept up with his 
theory. Meanwhile, blacker shadows gathered round the homestead of l.nchlea. 
For two years the strength of the old man had been going, and just as the horrori- 
of a j.ail were full in view, a consumption "kindly stepped in" and carried him 
a\*'ay, February 13, 17S4. Robert and Gilbert had made soma preparation foi 
the support of the family, when their father's affairs drt^w near a crisis, by taking 
a neighbouring farm, Mossgiel, which was lield in lack, of the Earl of Loudon, 
by that Mr. (lavin Hamilton whose name is lastingly •.mited to the poet's. The 
farm contained one hundred and eighteen acres, and the rent was fixed at ninety 
poiuids. We learn the particulars from Gilbert : — 

" It was slocked by the property and individual savings of the whole family, 
and was a joint concern among us. Every member of the fiimily wa> allowed 
ordinary wages for the lal)our he performed (m the farm. My brothers allowance 
and mine wms seven [)ounds per annum each. And during the whole time this 
family concern lasted, which was four years, as well as during tlie preceding period 
Ikt Lodilei, his e.\pcnses never in an> '»ne yeai- exceeded his slender income, Hii 



xxviH LIFE AND WRITINGS 

temperance and frugality were everything that could be wished." But daiker 
scenes were coining. 

There lived in Mauchline a master stone-mason. James Arinonr, who had a 
black-eyed daughter, Jean, ranking high among the six belles of tlie village. It 
fell out on a certain day, that the pott's dog ran over the clothes which Jean 
Armour was spreading on the grass, and she flung a stone at the trespasser. The 
old proverb rose to the tongue of Burns, and the love-story began. It fdls a me- 
lancholy page in the lives of the man and the woman. 'J'hey sinned, and they 
suffered. A meeting of the lovers ended in a gift by Duru.s to Jean of a wiitten 
promise, whk.h Scottish law accepts as legal evidence of an "irregular" union. 
The marriaj^e wxs not to be disclosed until the List moment, and when it came, 
the stone-m;u»on showed himself less indulgent than the law. His indignation 
was great ; and overpowered by the anger and the grief of her father, Jean de- 
stroyed the document, or permitted him to bum it. Under circumstances so af- 
flicting, she became the mother of twins, for the charge of whose maintenance 
security was demanded of Burns. James .Armour proved to be violent and relent- 
less, with a view, it is conjectured, of driving Burns from the country, and setting 
his daughter free. If he had the des'gn, it was almost fulfdled. Several Scotch- 
men were at that time engaged r.s assistant overseers in the We.-t India Planta- 
tions. The sal.iry was small, and the disagreeable nature of the occupation may 
be imagined. But it offered shelter to liurns, and he obtaineil an appointment in 
Jamaica, engaging himcelf to Dr. Douglas, of Port Antonio, for three years, at a 
salary of thirty poimds. To pay for his passage, he resolved to publish his 
■'Poems." iliey had grown up, silently and sweetly, lihe the wild-flowers in the 
fields. The Daisy under the Plough — the Mouse driven from her nest — the 
Winter-dirge — the Cotter's Saturday Night — The Vision — and other pieces, seemed 
to steal \\\MX\ his fancy, in its warm spring weatiier, with the bloom and freshness 
j of opening life. The .Muse had walked by his plough, and cheered and ilhuuinated 

' him. Even the coal-cart was sometimes hallowed by song. Lochlea is rich in 

these poetic remembrances, but Mossgiel excels it. Lately, perhaps now, you 
might sec the "ingle," and the "spence," with its boarded-floor, and the recess-bed? 
so common in Stotlauvl, where he composed some of hif most pathetic and humor- 
ous pieces. A small deal table was also ))oinied out. At the beginning of April, 
17S6, Burns sent his "Propos.als" to the press of John Wilson, in Kilm;irnock, 
In the mean time, he underwent a less agreeable form of publication in the parish 
kirk, by the tongue of Mr. Auld. A certificate of Bachelordom was the reward 
of the exposure. On June 12th, he communicated to a GLasgow acquaintance the 
news of his literary progress: — "Yon will have heard that I am going to com- 
mence poet in print ; to-n^-^row my works go Ij the press. 1 expert it \vill be 
k voliune of about two lumdred pages. It is jusl the last fooli:>h actiuc I iutcL.^ 



OF ROBER T B URNS. xxix 

lo do. and then turn a wise man as ^ast as possible." His story of the entcriiriso 
b extremely interesting : — 

" I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my power : I thought they 
had merit ; and it was a delicious idea that I should be called a clever fellow, even 
though it should never reach my ears — a poor negro driver, or perhaps a victim to 
that inhospitable clime, and gone to the world of spirits ! I can truly say, that 
pauvtr inconitn as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself and 
of my works as I have at ihis moment, when the public has decided in theii favour. 
It ever was my opinion, that the mistakes and blunders, both in a rational and re- 
ligious point of view, of which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to their 
ignorance of themselves. — To know myself, had been all along my constant study. 
I weighed myself alone ; I balanced myself with others ; I watched every means 
of information, to see how much ground I occupied as a man and a poet ; I studied 
assiduously Nature's design in my formation — where the lights and shrdes in my 
character were intended. I was pretty confident my poems would meet with some 
applause ; but, at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice of 
censure, and the novelty of West Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw 
off six hundred copies, of which I iiad got subscriptions for about three hundred 
and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met with from the 
public ; and besides, I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. 
This sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself, for want 
of money to procure my passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the 
price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in the first ship 
that was to sail from the Clyde ; for 

' Hungry ruin had me in the wind.* 

" I had been for some days skidking from covert to covert, under all the terrors 
of a jail ; as some ill-advised people l:ad uncoupled the merciless pack of the law 
at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few friends ; my chest was en 
the road lo Greenock ; I had composed the last song I should ever measure in 
Caledonia, 'The gloomy Night is gathering fast,' when a letter from Dr. Black- 
lock, to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by opening new prospects to 
my poetic ambition. The doctor belonged to a set of critics, for whose applause I 
had not dared to hope. His opinion that I would meet with encourageme::t ju 
Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so nuich, that away I posted for that 
tity, without a single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduction. The bane- 
ful star, that had so long shed its blasting influence in my zenith, for once mado 
a revolution to the nadir ; and a kind Providence placed me undei the patroiiafi 
of one of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn." 



«« LIFE AND WRlTINd 

The " Poems" appeared in July, 17S6, at the price of three shillings ; a digm« 
fied preface opened the volume : — 

" The following trifles are not the production of the poet who, with all the advan- 
bges of learned art, and, perhaps, amid the elegancies and idlenesses of upper life, 
Aoks down for a rural theme, with an eye to J heocritusor V'iryil. To t!ie author 
•f this, these and other celebrated names their countrymen arc, at least in their 
original language, a fountain shut up, and a book scaled. Unacquainted with 
the nccrssary requisites for commencing poet by rule, he sings the sentiments and 
manners he felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers aroimd him, in his and 
their native language. Though a rhymer from his earliest years, at least from the 
earliest impulses of the softer passions, it was not till very lately that the applause, 
perhaps the partiality, of frieiulship, wakened his vanity so far as to make him 
think anything of his worth showing ; and none of the following works were ever 
compiiscd v.ith a view to the press. To amuse himself with the little creations of 
his own fancy, amid the toil and f;\tigues of a laborious life ; to transcribe the 
various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own breast ; to 
find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a world, always an alien scene, 
task uncouth to the poetical mind ; — these were his niutivcs for courting the 
Muses, and in tiiese he found Poetry to be its own reward. 

"Now that he appears in the public character of an author, he does it with fe^.r 
and trembling. So dear is fame to the rhynnng tribe, that even he, an obscure, 
nameless liard, shrinks aghast at the thought of being branded as ' an impertinent 
blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the world ; and, because he can make a shift 
to jingle a few doggerel Scotch rhymes together, looking upon himself as a poet of 
00 small consequence forsooth ! ' 

'* It is an observation of th.at celebrated poet, Shenstone, wliosi.- divine elegies do 
honour to our language, our nation, and our species, that ' himiij i v has depressed 
many a genius to a hcrnsit, but never raised one to fame ! ' If any critic catches 
at the wurd GKML'S, the Author tells him, once for all, that he certaiidy looks upon 
himself as possessed uf some poetic abilities, otiierwise !iis publishing in the manner 
he has Uone would be a manoeuvre below the worst character which, he hopes, his 
worst enemy will ever give him. J'ut to the genius of a Kanssay, or the glorious 
dawnings of the poor luiforlunate Ferguson, lie, with eipia! unaffected sinceritj', 
dcclareb, that even in his highcsl pulse of vanity, he has not liie most distant pre- 
tensions, 'J hese two justly admired Scotch poets he has oficn had in his eye 
in the following pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at their tlanie, than for 
servile iniit iti'.m. 

"1 o his subscribers the Author returns his most sincere thanks ; not the merren- 
ery Low over a counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the Card, coi^eioiu 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xxxi 

hcwiruch he is Indebted to benevolence and friendship, for gratifying hi-n, if he 
deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic bosom — to be distinguished. He 
begs his readers, particularly tlie learned and the polite, who may honour him with 
a perusal, that they will make ever>' allowance for education ami circumstances of 
life ; but if, after a fair, candid, and impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted 
of dulness and nor.sense, let him be done by as he would In that case do by others 
—let hi;n be condemned, without mercy, to contempt and oblivion." 

" The Cotter's Saturday Night " was the gem of the collection, and did for the 
writer what the " Elegy " liad done for Gray — it made him famous. When Gil- 
pin, in 17^9, published his "Observations on the Highlands," he described the 
filcasing simplicity of country life, the small Erse Bible which was the Highlander's 
usual comp.inion, the mother spinning or knitting, and the children standing round 
her reading God's Book, or repeating the " Catechism ; " and by way of illustrat- 
ing his descnjition, he quoted the poem of Burns — "a Bard, as he calls himself, 
from the plough," — and pronoimced " the whole to be equal to any praise" Gil- 
bert gives a touching anecdote of the composition : — ■ 

" Robert had frequently remarked to me that he thought there was something 
peculiarly venerable in the phrase, ' Let us worship God,' used by a decent sober 
head of a family introducing family worship. To this sentiment of the Author the 
world is indebted for the * Cotter's Saturday Night.' The hint of the plan, and 
title of the poem, were taken from Ferguson's ' Farmer's Ingle.' When Robert 
had not some pleasure in view in which I was not thought fit to participate, we 
used fre(]uently to walk together when the weather was favourable on the Sunday 
afternoons (those precious breathing-times to the labouring part of the comnumity), 
and enjoyed such Sundays as would make one regret to see their number abridged. 
It was in one of these walks that I first had the pleasure of hearing the author re- 
peat the ' Cotter's Saturday Night.' I do not recollect to have read or heard 
anything by which I was more highly electrified. The fifth and si.vth stanzas, 
and the eighteenth, thrilled with peculiar ecstasy through my soul. I mention this 
to you, that you may see what hit the taste of unlettered criticism." 

The edition of the " Poems" was exhausted in a month by the subscribers and 
the public. Wherever the book came, it was admired. Farm-servants spent their 
wages to get it ; and educated readers turned an eye of interest upon the wruer. 
Among these were Dugald Stewart and Mrs. Dunlop, who contimied to the end 
of his life to be true and generous friends. A new issue of his " Poems" was now 
BuggC;ted to him, as likely to increase the comforts of his voyage ; but the Kil- 
marnock printer rccjiiired the cost of the paper to be advanced, and Burns had ac 
money for the purpose, though friends were not unwilling to provide it. 



xxxii LIFE AND IVRITINGS 

To ihfs period belongs a romantic incident in the poet's life : h>k. ^rting with 
Mary Campbell, »he dairymaid of Colonel Montgomery, and the Highland Mary 
of Poetry. All traditin describes her as a gentle-hearted, loving creature, willing 
to trust her happiness to an eloquent and daring admirer. I apprehend that, 
in some particulars, the biographers of Burns have been warmed by his raptures. 
His own narrative is sufficient for my purpose : — " After a pretty long trial of the 
most ardent, recipnxal affection, we met, by appointment, on the second Sunday ol 
May, in a sequ'isteied spot on the banks of the Ayr, where we spent a day in t.ik- 
iag a farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange mat- 
ters among her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of the autnnm 
following, she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed 
when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to her grave 
in a few days, before I could even learn of her illness." The Bible over which the 
lovers uttered their vows, and a tress of Mary's long, shining liair, are still pre- 
served. Let me not be deemed unkind to Burns, if I remember that while he was 
thus pledging himself with such solemnity of circumstance to a Mary, a Jean was 
rueing the day that she met him in the house of her sorrowful parents. 

A circumstance, which his letter has already told, rendered pecuniary help 
tmnecessary. Burns was acquainted with Dr. I^urie, minister of Loudoun, and 
that gentleman sent a copy of the " Poems" to Dr. Blacklock, wiih a slight out- 
line of the Poet's life. The amiable scholar was delighted by the pathos, the 
grace, and the humour of the volume, and strongly urged the immediate prepar- 
ation of an enlarged impression. The pleasure of the Poet was equal to his 
critic's ; and he exchanged the voyage to Jamaica for the road to Edinburgh. 
He arrived in that city November 28, 1786. Dugald Stewart had already awakened 
some interest in his behalf by reading liis poems, and speaking of his struggles, to 
several friends, and to Henry Mackenzie among the number. Wc have the Pro- 
fessor's sketch of the Ayrshire Ploughman, as he appeared in the Scottish metro- 
polis. His dress was plain, but neat. Walter Scott, recalling the vision of his 
sixteenth year, said that he should have taken the poet for a very sagacious 
country farmer of the old school — "the douce gudeman who held his own 
plough ! " 

Very surprising must have been the change from the plavground of Nature to 
tlic school of Art. A more striking group of scholars and men of taste might not 
be found. There was the good and blind son of the brirklayer, whom Johnson 
hailed at Sir William Forbes's breakfast-table with the tender welcome, " Dear 
Dr. Blacklock, 1 am glad to see you." There was Blau, the beau, the novel- 
reader, the popular preacher, and the vainest man of Xi Cii.io. There was 
Robertson, neither brilliant nor fruitful in talk, but ple?*»r* rr'' ^•\'^.r-Q-'r a»"l 
praising the generous claret. There was Adam Ferguss"iv *H» * '"^ «-».«''<» »n«i 



OF ROBERI BURNS. xxxiii 

rigorous, ii:to his ninety-third year. There was Mackenzie, the gayest of the 
gay, collecting his rhymes on the edge of the grave, and turning out for a coursing- 
niaCh with a white hat, green spectacles, and a dog-whistle round his neclc 
There was Alison, the elegant and the refined. There was Monboddo, enunci- 
ating his great axiom that everything was possible, and contemplating the birth 
of a conversable ourang-outang. But especially eminent and beloved above ail 
the band was "the plain, honest, worthy man, the Professor," Dugald Stewart, 
wxhibiting to the admiration of his rustic friend the blended virtues of " Socrates, 
Nathanael, and Shakspeare." One distinguished member of Edinburgh society 
*as absent. Adam Smith had just gone to London, when Burns received an 
introductory letter. We may imagine the delight with which the painter of " The 
Holy Fair" would have watched the Doctor hovering round the sugar-basin, and 
continually carrying off a fresh lump from the bewildered spinster who presided 
Jn this brave company of philosophers and critics, the peasant held up his head 
He fought them with weapons sharper than their own, and supplied his want of 
science, or learning, by a various fancy and a glow of language which amazed the 
scholars, and lifted the beautiful Duchess of Gordon off her feet. Nor was Edin- 
burgh less attractive than its inhabitants. Burns surveyed it with a poet's eye. 
Arthur's Seat' was a favourite haunt, and the cottage smoke, going up into the 
dear blue sky of morning, awoke in him home-thoughts more tender than poetry. 
But the great city is not always a safe home for the moralist — never for a poet. 
We a"; assured by one, who was darkly stained by its vices, that Burns did not 
escape the corruption of evil companionship. His Edinburgh life took a downward 
turn from the period when he exchanged his share of a garret in Baxter's-close 
and the society of John Richmond, a lawyer's clerk, for the more luxurious dwell- 
insi of William Nicol, a teacher in the High School — a clever and noisy admirer, 
who was at the same time a scoffer and a drunkard. We cannot read this chapter 
in the story of Bums without remembering the intemperance and the swagger 
of Savage. 

At the beginning of April, 1787, the second edition of his poems issued from 
the shop of Creech. Lord Glencairn and the Dean of the Faculty had taken him 
under their wing, and the Caledonian Hunt subscribed in a body. To his learned 
acquaintances he had recently added Dr. John Moore, formerly a surgeon in 
Glasgow, afterwards the travelling companion of the Duke of Hamilton, and 
then settled in London as a physician. The storj' of "Zeluco" had won a name, 
and Burns regarded the author with a sort of mysterious reverence. In a letter 
to Moore, April 23, 1787, he gives his view of a town life on its learned side : — " I 
Wave Edinburgh in the course of ten days or a fortnight. I shall return to my 
lural shades, iii all likelihood nevsi more to quit them. I have formed raanj 



'"xiv LIFE AND WRITINGS 

intimacies and friendships here ; but I am afraid they are a11 of too ter.dcr a con. 
struclion to bear carriage a hundred and fifty miles." 

He had long cherished the desire of making leisurely pilgrimages to the battle 
fields, the romantic rivers, and the ruined castles of his country ; and his longing 
was at last in some measure to be gratified in the season most dear to hia 
fancy — 

"When rosy May comes in wi' flowers." 

On the 6t^ of that month, having one companion, Mr. Robert Ainslie, he 
made a hastj excursion into the southern districts, in which Beattie discovered 
the Arcadia of Scotland, being distinguished by green hills, clear flowing streams, 
scattered or clustering trees, and especially by its songs, " sweetly expressive of 
love and tenderness, and ihj other emotions suited to the tranquillity of pastoral 
life." 

In three weeks. Buries visited the most interesting scenes. At Jedburgh, where 
orchards and gardens were mingled with the ruins of a stately cathedral, he 
received the freedom of the borough ; the glorious Melrose and the old abbey of 
Dryburgh affected him greatly, and he carried away in his memory the sound 
and the colour of 

" Ettrick banks now roaring red." 

From Arcadia, he passed into Northumberland, and visited the noble castle of 
the duke, and the hermitage of Warkworth. 

Burns relumed to Mossgiel in June (8th), 1787, and his biographers have 
noticed the affecting circumstances under which he revisil-;d his home. Several [ 
months were gone since he quitted it, a poor and desperate man ; he came back ; 
enriched and honoured ; and, in the afl'ectionate welcome of his kindred, he might ■ 
discover a recompense for the glare and the flattery which he had left. He did 
not, however, long continue under the old roof, but made a fresh expedition into 
the Highlands, and rejoined his family in July. August found him again in ^ 
Edinburgh, arranging a third tour with Mr. Adair, of Harrowgate, to whom we } 
owe a slight sketch of the journey : — 

" Burns and I left Edinburgh together in August, 1787. We rode by Linlithgow ) 
and Carron, to Stirling. We visited the iron-works at Carron, with which the poet [ 
was forcibly struck. The resemblance between that place, and its inhabitants, to 
the caveof Cyclops, which nuist have occurred to every classical visitor, presented 
itself to Burns. At Stirling the prospects from the castle strongly interested him ; 
in a fjrmer visit to which, his natiojial feelings had been powerfully ex-.;ited 
by the ruinous and roofless state of the hall in which the Scottish Parliaments 
kad frequently been held. His indignation liad ventcc itself in some imprudf nl 



OF ROBERT BURNS, xxx\ 

isut not unpoetical lines, which hai! given much offence, anv*. which he took tliis 
opporfunity oferxsing, by breaking the pane of the window ai the inn on which 
Ihey were written. 

"At Stirling we met with a company of travellers from Edinburgh, among whom 
was a character in many respects congenial with that of Burns. This was Nicol, 
one of \he teachers of the High Grammar School at Edinburgh : the same wit 
and power of conversation ; th-* same fondness for convivial society, and thought- 
l'"ssness of to-morrow, characterized both. Jacobitical principles in politics were 
corr.mon to both of them ; and these have been suspected, since the Revolution of 
l"r?ncc, to have given place in each to opinions apparently opposite. I regret 
that 7 have preser\'ed no tncvwrabilia of their conversation, either on this or on 
other occasions, when I happened to meet them together. Many songs were 
sung . which I mention for the sake of observing, that when Burns was called en 
in his turn, he was accustomed, instead of singing, to recite one or other of his 
shorte • poems, with a tone and emphasis which, tliough not correct or harmonious, 
were impressive and pathetic. This he did on the present occasion. 

" From Stirling we went next morning through the romantic and fertile vale o( 
Devon to Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, then inhabited by Mrs. Hamiltor, 
with the younger part of whose family Burns had been previously acquainted. 
He intudiiced me to the family, and there was formed my first acquaintance with 
Mrs. Hamilton's eldest daughter, to whom I have been married for nine years. 
Thus was I indebted to Burns for a connection from which I have derived, and 
sxpect further to derive, much happiness. 

" During a residence of about ten days at Harvieston, we made excursions to 
visit various parts of the surrounding scenery, inferior to none in Scotland, in 
beautv, sublimity, and rohiantic interest ; particularly Castle Campbell, the 
ancient seat of the family of Argyle ; and the famous cataract of the Devon, called 
the ' Cauldron Linn ;" and the " Rumbling Bridge," a single broad arch, thrown 
by the Devil, if tradition is to be believed, across the river, at about the height of a 
hundred feet above its bed. I am surprised that none of these scenes should have 
called forth an exertion of Burns's muse. But I doubt if he had much taste for the 
picturesque. I well remember, that the ladies at Harvieston, who accompanied us 
on this jaunt, expressed their disappointment at his not expressing, in more glow- 
ing and fervid language, his impressions of the " Cauldron Linn" scene, certainly 
highly sublime, and somewhat horrible. 

"A visit to Mrs. Bruce of Clackmannan, a lady above ninety, the lineal descend- 
ant of that race wJiich gave the Scottish throne its brightest ornament, interested 
his feelings more powerfully. This vencr.able dame, with characteristical dignity, 
.♦.formed me, on my observing I ha.. 1 believed she was descended from the famdy 
*» Robert Brcce that Robert Bruce was sprung from her fanrily. Taoueh 



xxxvl LIFE AND IVRJTINCS 

almost deprived of speech by a paralytic affection, slie preserved her hospitality 
and urbanity. She was in possession of the hero's helmet and two-handed sword, 
with which she conferred on Bums and myself the honour of knighthood, remark- 
ing, that she had a better right to confer tliat title ihtin so)>ie />eo/>le You 

will of course conclude that the old lady's political tenets were as Jacobitical as 
the poet's, — a conformity which contributed not a little to the cordiality of cur 
reception and entertainment. She gave as her first toast after dinner, Awa, 
Uncos, or, Away with the Strangers. — Wliu those strangers were you will readily 
understand. Mrs. A. corrects me by saying it should be I/ooi, or liooki iikcos, a 
sound used by shepherds to direct their dogs to drive away the sheep. 

" We returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on the shore of Lochleven) and Quccns- 
ferry. I am inclined to think Burns knew nothing of poor Michael Bruce, who 
was then alive at Kinross, or had died there a short while before. A meeting 
between the bards, or a visit to the deserted cottage and early grave of poor 
Bruce, would have been highly interesting. 

"At Dunfermline we \isited the ruined abbey, and the abbey church, new con- 
secrated to Presbyterian worship. Here I moui\ted the ctitfy stool, or stool of 
repentance, while Burns from the pulpit addressed to me a ludicrous reproof and 
exhortation, parodied from that which had been delivered to himself in Ayrshire, 
where he had, as he assured me, once been one of seven who mounted the seat oj 
shame together. 

" In the churchyard, two broad flagstones marked the grave of Robert Bruce, 
for whose memor> Burns had more than common veneration. He knelt and kissed 
the stone with sacred fer\our, and heartily [situs ut inos erat) execrated the worse 
than Gothic neglect of the first of Scottish heroes." 

He had no sooner ended his third pilgrimage, than he began another, and a 
more extensive, in the company of his friend Mr. Nicol. The travellers, leaving 
Edinburgh, August 25, 1787, pursued their way into the heart of the Highlands, 
and, stretching northward, about ten mi'.es beyond Inverness, took an easterly 
course over the island, and returned by the shore of the German Sea to Edinburgh. 
Burns anticipated and found much entertainment in the original humour of his 
companion. But the ill qualities of Nicol tarnished the good. His manners were 
coarser than his person, and the " strong in-kneed sort of a soul," which his 
friend attributed to him, seems to have gained its vigour by the loss of gentleness, 
fur his temper was fierce and ungovcmed. 

But to Burns the tour brought pleasant fruit. Athole House was a cherished 
remembrance. The gloom of evening hung over the landscape, when Mr. Walker, 
whom he had known at Edinburgh, conducted him through the grounds, and wit- 
oesscd the tender enthusiasm with which he gazed on th^ "xenery. " We rested,' 



OF R OBER T B URNS. xxxvj 

lie si' \.t 0( .7o. Jsworth writes, " upon the heather seat which Burns was so loth 
to quit that moonlight evening when he first went to Blair Castle ; and I had a 

jleasure in thinking that he had teen rnder the same shelter, and viewed tha 
little waterfall opposite with some of the happy and pure feelings of his bettd 
mind." 

Within-doors, the "fine family piece" was not less charming. To G.lbert he 
sent a letter from Edinburgh,. September i6, 1787. 

"I arrived here safe yesterday evening, after a tour of twenty-two days, and 
travelling near six hundred miles, windings included. My farthest stretch w n 
\bout ten miles beyond Inverness. I went through the heart of the Highlands, 
by Crieff, 'I'aymouth, the famous seat of Lord Breadalbaue, down the Tay, among 
cascades and druidical circles of stones, to Dunkeld, a seat of the Duke of Athole ; 
thence cross lay, and up one of his tributary streams to Blair of Athole, another 
cf l!ie Duke's seats, where I had the honour of spending nearly two days with his 
Grace and family ; thence many miles through a wild courtry, among clift's grey 
with etern.al snows, and gloomy savage glens, till I crossed Spey and went down 
•.he stream through Strathspey, so famous in Scottish mvisic, Badenoch, &c., till I 
reached Grant Castle, where I spent half a day with Sir James Grant and family ; 
anil theti crossed the country for Fort George, but called by tlie way at Cawdor, 
the ancient seat of Macbeth ; there I saw the identical bed in which, tradition says. 
King Duncan was nuirdered : lastly, from Fort (ieorge to Inverness. 

"I returned bj- the coast, through Nairn, Forres, and so on, to -Aberdeen; 
thence to Stonehive, where James Burns, from Montrose, met me by appointment. 
I spent two days among our relations, and foimd our aimts, Jean and Isabel, still 
alive, and hale old women. John Caird, though born the same year with our 
father, walks as vigorously as I can ; they have had several letters fiom his son in 
New York. William Brand is likewise a stout old fellow : but further p;irticulai!» 
I delay till I see you, which will be in two or three weeks. 'J'he rest of my stages 
are not worth rehearsing : warm as I was from Ossian's country, where I had seen 
his very grave, what cared I for fishing towns or fertile c.irses ? I slept at the 
famous Brodie of Brodie's one night, and dined at Gordon Castle next day with 
the Duke, Duchess, ^ud family. 1 am thinking to cause my old n^.are to meet me, 
by means of John Ronald, at Glasgow ; but you shall hear further from me before 
I leave Edinburgh. Mj' duty, and many compliments from the north, to my 
mother, and my brotherly compliments to the rest. I have been trying for a berth 
for William, but am not likely to be successful. — Farewell." 

Burns was again in Edinburgh during the winter of 1737. He is then supposed 
to have begun his ac(|uaintauce with the lady whom he celebrated under the title 
»f Ciaiinda. Her real name was M'Lihose, the wife of a gentleman in the Weal 



*xxvin LJFE A^j) WRITINGS 

Indies, and then residing with her children in Edinburgh. The *.et(£rs which 
Burns addressed to her, in the pastoral character of Sylvander, aie MiCficientiy 
amorous and absurd ; but a devotee, like Clarinda, required no common homage. 
She declared that the admiration of fourscore years would not pay her debt of 
gratitude. Time dealt generously with her in old age ; she lived near the Calton 
Hill, where Mr. Howitt and his wife visited her, ant' witnessed a most amusing 
scene. Clarinda invited her guests to drink out of the glasses which Sylvander 
had presented, and took them from the cupboard, and rang for the servant to 
*bring wine. An aged woman answered the call, and hearing that the strangers 
" were to drink out of the glasses which stood ready on the table, she gave a look 
as if sacrilege v/ere going to be committed, took up the glasses without a word, 
replaced them in the cupboard, locking them up, and brought in three ordinary 
glas,ses. It was in vain for Mrs. M'Lehose to remonstrate ; the old and self-willed 
servant went away without deigning a reply, with the key in her pocket." 

The settlement of his accounts with Creech, February, 1788, placed more than 
five hundred pounds in the hands of Burns. He made a noble use of part of the 
money 

His own account to Dr. IMoore— J.inuary 4, 1789— is simple and pleasing : " I 
have a younger brother, who supports my aged mother; another still younger 
brother, and three sisters, in a farm. On my last return from Edinburgli, it cost 
me about ^180 to save them from ruin. Not that 1 have lost so much— I only 
interposed between my brother and h".s impending fate by the loan of so much. 1 
give myself no airs on this, for it was mere selfishness on my part. I was conscious 
that the wrong scale of the balance was pretty heavily charged, and I thought that 
throwing a little filial and fraternal affection into the scale in my favour, might 
help to smooth matters at the g^ rand reckoning." With the balance of his profits 
he entered upon a farm, belonging to Mr .Miller, of Dalswinton. Ellisland was 
pleasantly situated on the banks of the Nith, six miles from Dumfries. 'l"he vale 
of the Nith sweeps just below the house, and from the windows the river is seen 
flowing with its swift, dark current, broad as the Thames at Hampton Court. 
Burns began liis new life at Whitsuntide, 1788, h.aving previously gone through 
the ceremony of a justice-of-peacc marriage with Jean Armour, in the ofilce of his 
friend Gavin Hamilton. He considered the head of a wife to be immaterial, in 
comparison of her heart. He spoke from expc rience. His Jean had a handsome 
figure, a sweet temper, and reckoned her husband the finest genius in th-i world. 
Her acquaintance with jirose and verse was limited to the IJiblc anc' the Psalms; 
but she had studied a cert.iin collection of Scottish songs, and warbled in.my with 
a delicious wood-note. In later life, the Ettrick Shepherd fiequcntly saw j>Irs, 
Burns, in the old church of Dumfries, and spoke of her as a brunette, wit'i iiin 
eyes. 



OF ROBERT BURNS. xxxix 

A idodern poet has said finely,— 

" And there were many strange and sudden hg'^ts 

Kcokoiied him tow.irds them ; ihcy weio wrecking lights: 
But he shunned these, and righted w h'-n she rose, 
Moon of his life, that ebbed and flowed with hei ! " 

Alas ! that we cannot applj' the words to Burns. His wedded life met with diffi* 
cullies at tlie beginning. The h^js^ of Ellisland was a miseiuble iiovel, open to 
wind and rain, and giving to the occupant the choice of being drenched or suffo- 
cated. Jean could not come under such a roof, and she remained with the poet's 
family. But forty miles make a wide gap between husband and wife, liurns set 
himself with all speed to build a better dwelling, and the summer found him busy 
in the field. His resolutions were excellent. " I have all along, hiilierto in the 
warfa-e of life, been bred to arms among the light horse — the piquet guards of 
fancy^ a kind of hussars and highlandersof the brain ; but I am firmly resolved to 
sell out of these giddy battalions, who have no ideas of a battle, but fighting the 
foe, or of a siege, but storming the town. Cost wh.at it will, I am determined to 
buv in among the grave squadrons of heavy-armed thought, or the artillery corps 
of ploJJing contrivance." In neither of these regiments did he ever get a com- 
mission. He Ijrought Jean home in November, and for the first time in his life had 
the opportunity of realizing his own picture : — 

" To make a happy fire-side clime, 
To weans and wife — 
That's the true pathos, and sublime 
Of human life." 

Bi L low spirits dulled his joys. He calls himself such a coward in the world, and 
so tired of the service, that the desire of his heart was " to lie down in iiis mother's 
lap and be at peace." We hear him groaning under the miseries of a diseased 
nervous system, and of headaches three weeks in duration. 

It may be feared that ilie mirth of the Edinburgh tables often rung in his ears. 
Dr. Moore had mentioned the friendliness of husb;mdry to fancy, while he wished 
for him the prosperous union of the farmer and tho poet. But Burns had neit!;er 
Msecenas for a landlord, nor Horace for a neighl>.-ur. He gives a ciiaractcristic 
sketch of his life at "the ver;- elbow" of existence. "'J'he only things," he told 
Mr. Bengo, the engraver, " that are to be found this country in any d'.gree of 
perfection arc stupidity and canting." Prose, lie s tid, tiiej' only knew in graces 
and sermons, which they vah-.ed, like plaiding we'-s, by the ell ; while a p-jet and 
R rhiaoceros suggested ideas equally distinct and .agreeable. It was not alwa,'s 
dark in Ellisl.and. His first winter glided liapp'lv by, and goldfui days of tii* 



xl ^11'^ AND WRITINGS 

heart wm? \.\ S\cj often shone, when the father rejoiced in the ci own of the p^ H. 
In this farm, by the river-side, he composed his noblest lyric, " To Mary in Hea- 
ven ; " and there, too, the fat and festive Grose came to visit him, and heard ol 
tlie wonderful jump of Cutty Sark and the magnificent terrors of Tarn. 

Burns had made a bad choice of a farm ; but a momentary sunlight broke 
over it, and the crops rewarded his industry and care. An agricultural friend 
once warned him that however situation, soil, and custom might vary, Farmer 
Attention would be prosperous everywhere. And it is conceivable that even from 
EUisland he might have come in joy, bringing sheaves. lUit Farmer Attention 
was a stranger under that roof — more familiar to the wedding feast and the harvest 
dance. The appointment of Burns to the Excise came, to complete the ruin of 
the husbandman. He owed it to the kindness of a surgeon (Mr. Wood), who got 
his name placed on the list of candidates. His satisfaction is abimdantly shown 
in his letters. "I thought," he wrote to Mrs. Dunlop, " five-nnd-thirty pounds a 
year was no bad dcrtiier ressort for a poor poet, if fortune, in her jade tricks, 
should kick him down from the little eminence to which she had lately helped him 
up." To Miss Chalmers he placed his new office in the same prudential light. 
*' I do not find my farm that pennyworth I was taught lo expect ; but 1 believe in 
time it may be a saving bargain. To save me from that horrid situation of at any 
time going down in a losing bargain of a farm to misery, I have taken my Excise 
instructions, and have my commission in my pocket for any anergency of fortune.' 
And to another lady he remarked — " The question is not at what door of Fortune's 
palace shall we enter in? but. What doors does she open to us?" To his friend 
Ainslie he talked in high spirits : — " I do not know if I have informed you that I 
am now appointed to an excise division, in the middle of which my house and 
farm lie. In this I was extremely lucky, without ever having been an expectant, 
as they call their journeyman exciseman, I was directly planted down, to all in- 
tents and purposes, an officer of excise. Fifty pounds a year for life, and a pro- 
vision for widows and orphans, you will allow, is no bad selilcment for a poet." 

Before the close of 1791, Burns relinquished his farm, and being placed, with 
& salary of seventy pounds, in the Dumfries department of E.xcise he removeG 
his family to that town. The situation was not promising. The house stood in a 
narrow street, swarming with tramps ; and the worthy sister of a great poet de- 
scribes its look in the autunni of 1803 : — " It has a mean appearance, whitewashed, 
dirty about the doors, as all Scotch houses are ; the parlour walls were washed 
with blue wash ; on one side of the fire was a mahogany desk, opprvsite the win- 
dow a clock, and over the desk a print from the " Cotter's Saturday Night." The 
house was cleanly and neat in the insiilc; the stairs of stone scoured white, th.« 
kitchen on the right hand of the passage, the parlour on the left." 



CJ /lOBEH T BURNS. "icU 

'.t^j »Xoj).^V^s'^ of Bums concur in putting his Dumfiics life into shadow. 
*'I am just risen," are his own sad words — "from a two hours' bout after suf>per, 
with silly, or sordid souls, who could relish nothing in common with me but tho 
port." Among companions like these he had long been in the habit — to adopt his 
Btriking phrase — of dividing large slices of his constitution ; but the bigge.^t slices 
were given at Dumfries. Many families from the south of Scotland chose that 
town for their winter residence; and we are told that it aboiuuled in "stately 
Toryism," which only served to embitter and aggravate the hostility of the P(.et. 
Tlie freedom of his manners was, at least, equalled by that of his tongue, and his 
epigrams fell thick and fast. One critic is sharp upon the " gentry," because they 
"cut" Burns. This "cutting" is certain. A friend informed Mr. I.ockhart, that 
upon a fine summer evening he saw the poet walking alone on the shady side oi 
the principal street, while the opposite part was gay with successive groups of 
gentlemen and ladies, all drawn together for the festivities of the night, not one 
of whom appeared willing to recognize him. Assuredly he gave ample opportr.nity 
to evil-speakers. A single instance will be sufficient. 'Ihe coasts of Galloway 
and Ayrshire \ycre the haunts of smugglers, whom it was the especial duty of the 
revenue officers to watch and intercept. In the February of 1792, an armed brig 
appearing in the Solway Frith, and getting into shallow water, a party of dragoons 
was brought down, and, led by Burns, dashed up to the brig and captured her. 
At the public sale of the vessel, he bought four guns, which he sent with a flatter- 
iag assurance of his esteem to the French Convention. The gift was stopped at 
Dover, but the folly of the exciseman reachec* the ears of the Board, by whom he 
was naturally regarded as a person disaffected and dangerous. .Scared of a sud- 
den by the vision of a helpless wife, and children turned adrift irto the world. 
Burns opened his grief to Mr. Graham, and found the protection w hich he asked. 
The displeasure of the Board passed away in a mild and merited censure. Noi 
is there any reason to suppose that his prospects of promotion were Jjlighted by 
the imprudence and wilfulness of his conduct. If he became more circtuuspect in 
his political walk, the watchfulness did not reach his morals. His most zealous 
apologists only venture to plead that his errors were occasional ; and witnesses 
are called to speak of his early rising, his punctuality, and his lessons to his 
children. What is such testimony worth ? That life must bo utterly reprobate, 
of which sin is the narrative, not the episode. In general, the phrensy of vice has 
lucid intervals. Kit Smart was not wheeled home in the barrow tju every night. 
There is enough of the wild beast in sin to make it drowsy wheu it is fed. 

It is the fashion to rebuke any censure of Burns by a reference to passages in 
wl ich he confesses his guilt, and implores the pity of his brethren. Let the ap> 
peal be welcomed. He lias left outpourings of a smitten heart, never to hb rzai 

d 



xfii LIFE AND WRITINGS 

without sympathy, nor to be remembered except witn prayer. Buv of what aTSifc 
is sorrow which bears no fruit? Crabbe is believed to have painted Burns in th« 
portrait of Edward Shore : — 

"Griev'd, but not contrite, was his heart ; oppress'd. 
Not broken ; not converted, but distress'd ; 
He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee ; 
He wanted light ihe cause of ill to see ; 
To learn how frail is man, how humble then should be." 

Tlie picture is a likeness. I do not doubt that in the fei;tival of his riot, orb'r 
^ilt, the great soul of this wonderful man was shaken by gusts of penitence and 
fear. A hand on the wall terrified him with the balance ; and dreadfully liie scales 
went down before his accusing eyes. Very awful is his confession to a friend : — 
" Even in the hour of social mirth, my gaiety is the madness of an inioxicatrd 
oriminal under the hands of the executioner." In such seasons the united Pres- 
bytery had no preacher so eloquent, no prayers so pathetic. I'iie Eiirick Shepherd 
frequently heard one Master Saunders Pruudfoot relate a story. Ihere bad been 
a merrymaking at Thornhill Fair, and wine and punch disappeared with more than 
ordinary swiftness. " By degrees the hale o' the chaps slippit away ane after 
another. But what I fear was his warst fault — he couldu.i leave the bowl, and I 
was determined not to leave him ; sae we sat on, an' s;it on, till .iftcr midnight 
and then were shown into a bedroom, an' our bowl an' glasses wi' us. 1 saw be- 
fore this time that Burns had gotten rather mair than enough, an' in order to gar 
bim gi' over, I pretended to be drunk, an' lay down on ane o' the beds with my 
claes on. Burns seemed very ill pleased when 1 left him, an' looked round and 
roimd him as rather disappointed ; but he couldna drink by himself, and if he 
took ae glass after 1 left him that was a'. 1 watched him weel, an' he grew ex- 
ceedingly impatient, an' then throwing himsel' on liis knees, with his face leaning 
on his arms, which were across the chair, he began to pray, arid by ilcgrees he 
got into such a fervent supplication for mercy and forgiveness for all i)i> trans- 
gressions, that it was awfu', it was dreadfu' to hear hiin. It made sic an impres- 
sion on me, that I crept quietly owre the bed, out o' his kcnnin, and kneeled down 
beside him. He confessed himself to be the chief o' siimers, with tears of agony; 
and siccan fervour o' eloquence I never heard frae the lips o" man. Jt was awe- 
some to hear him. I was even greetin' mysel', although it's no little that g.ars 
auid Sandy (.ry." 

I rejoice in believing the heart of Burns to have been always true. A teni>i 
father he surely w.is. He revered Virtue when he iv.UragtHt ner. I'lie litt'. \\z\\\\ 
of his children were f;t;ailiar to his \eck in all their " thehterin' noise an ^lee; ' 



1 



trh ROBERT BURNS. xHr 

rnd ao husband, in his calmer hours, ever felt more deeply tie dear asiocialioni 

" Wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnilj', 

His clean hearih-siane, his thrifty wifie's smile." 

The wife of Burns had much to forgive, and she forgave it, in life aid in death. 
Very touchmg is the anecdote which Hogg tells of Jean Burns the widow. " Na, 
na, poor fellow, his complaints were a' of himsel'. He never complai'ied either ol 
the bairns or me , he never said a misbehadden word to me a' the days of his life." 
We havt evidence, in the poetry which Ijurns wrote at Dumfries, that the brighter 
life within him was continually throwing sunshine into the outward cloud. And a 
fortunate circumstance cherisiied the flame. Mr. George 'Ihomson, of Edin- 
burgh, had formed a plan of collecting original Scotch airs for the voice, accom- 
panied by words. He was a man of cultivated taste, fond of painting, and able to 
bear his part in a violin quartette of Pleyel. 'J'he musical assistance he had secured, 
but he v/anted the poetical. His hopes turned to the author of " The Cotter's 
Saturday Night," and in September, 1792, he stated his wishes to Burns, who on 
the 16th of the same month answered the application with a frank and cordial en- 
thusiasrA. Still further to brighten the prospect, Bealtie promised an Ivssay on 
the National Music. Burns kept his word, and found his pleasure in his work. 
He assured Thomson, in the April of the next year, that the business of compos- 
ing had added to his enjoyments, and that ball.ad-making was becoming as com- 
pletely his " hobby-horse as ever fortification was Uncle Toby's." His anticipa- 
tions of success, too, were largely fulfilled ; for in this race he took the right side 
of the winning-post. By the general verdict of readers, the sixty songs, which he 
wrot.' for the collection of Thomson, are pronounced to be the most beautiful and 
refi-ied of his works. The " Bannockburn " was a blast upon a trumpet which he 
bLw too seldom. But the evening lights begin to melt arountl us. 

The glimpses which the poet gives of himself are in the highest degree mourn- 
ful : Regret — Remorse — Shame, dog his steps and bay at his heels ; he apologizes 
to a lady for >ome festive ill-behaviour, by writing a letter " from ttie dead : " his 
helpless little folks drive sleep from his pillow ; his old friends would not 
know him. With every month the nervous misery increases ; and his feelings, at 
times, are only to be envied by *' a reprobate spirit listening to the sentence that 
dooms it to penlition." Except in the letters of Cowper, I remendier no ^elf-up- 
braidings more dreadful or pathetic. The storm deepened. He had hardily buried 
his sweet little girl, when a rheumatic fever of the severest kind Innunl him to his 
bed. All these things were against him. To James Johnson he \\rote : — "This 
jrotrvcting, slow, consuming iUness which hangs over me will, 1 doubt much 



xli/ LIFE AT:D IVRITINGS 

arrest, my sun before he has well reached his middle career, and will turn over th« ' 
poet to far more important concerns than studying the brilliancy of wit or the pa* 
thos of sentiment. However, hope is the cordial of the human heart, and I 
endeavour to cherish it as well as I can." The new year found him making feebl* 
elforts to crawl across his room. But no suffering could teacli prudence to Burns 
The firstfruits of his strength were given to a tavern dinner, prolontjec i .co th« 
late morning. Returning home, he sunk on the snow and slept. 'J'he old enemy 
came in his sleep, and he awoke with the torments of rheumatism, renewed and 
sharpened. Pale, emaciated, and wanting a hand to help him from his chair, ha 
complained of " spirits fled — fled I " One faint hope remained — it was the shadow 
of a shade: sea-bathing might restore him. In order to obtain it, he was removed \ 
to Brow, a village on the Solway Frith ; and there his pains were slightly relieved 
But the tire was still burning. He returned to Dumfries on the i8th of July, 1 
1796, wasted in body and face, and hardly able to stand. Dr. Maxwell, wlfcft 
attended him, conwnunicated the particulars of his closing hours to Currie : — A 
tremor pervaded his frame ; his tongu': w.as parched, and his mind sunk into de- 
lirium when not roused by conversation. On the second and third day the fever 
increased, and his strength diminished. Upon the fourth day the cord was loosed 
and the spirit took its flight. 

So died Robert Burns, the most remarkable person of that age ; alike gifted 
and wretched; the glory and the shame of literature. Can the tale be more fit- i 
tingly ended, or moralized, than by the last wcrds of a Scottish minstrel of wide | 

renown, and who did not die in a noisj' street, but in the splendid home which his 
genius had erected. I'he September afternoon was cahn and sunny, and th*" 
Tweed, rippling over its pebl)les, sounded through the open window, when the ex | 

piring poet whispered to a friend by his bed, " I may have but a minute to speak 
to you, — iNIy tlear, be a good man — be virtuous, be religious. Nothing else will 
give you any comfort when you come to lie here." i 

Men torgive nuich to the dead, and round the grave of Burns nothing was re- 
membered but the light that had been quenched. It went down in stormy splen- 
dour among clouds and darkness, but the survivors thought only of the full and 
glowing orb, and the beauty which it had left for ever to ilhnninate the .streams 
and fields of Scotland. He was buried, July 26th, with military honours, as lie- 
longing to the Dumfries Volunteers, and a great nuiltitude followed him. The 
sun shone brightly all the day, and while the earth " was heaped up, and the 
green sod was laiil over him, the crowd stood gazing for some minutes' space, and 
then melted silently away." 

Few faces are more famili.ar to poetical readers than the broad, massive, earnest 
countenance of Burns. A plain-spoken and rough acquaintance said that he w.asa 
good-looking, tine fellow, " rather black an' ill-coloured ; " and Professor VValket 



OF ROBER T BL\?N ,\ xlv 

tCCOgnhcA the weather-beaten features of a master of a trading vessel. His black 
hair, slightly sprinkled with grey, was spread over his forehead, and suited the 
laije dark eye, which really glowed under the impulse of pleasure or anger. 
"J have seen," wrote Scott, "the most distinguished men of my time; and 1 
never saw such another eye in a human head." His figure was tall — nearly fiva 
feet ten inches, — but an ungraceful stoop diminished his height to the observer. 
Like many poets, he was not captivated by science, or skill, in music. An old 
strathspey awoke exquisite pleasure, anc ' Rothemurche's Rant" put him in rap- 
tures. In this feeling he resembled Scott, who was melted by the simplest tune 
v/hile a complicated harmony seemed to be a babble of soimds. But no ear waj 
wakefuller than that of Burns to every tone of nature : her sjgh, her murmur, hei 
breath of love ; the rustle of the copse, the wind in the branches, the whistle 
of the curlew, the cadence of plovers, the moan of the river sedge, — each sound 
passed over his mind like a cunning finger upon a harp, and left him soothed, in- 
flamed, enamoured, or devout. 

His literary taste was instinctively pure and refined. Virgil charmed him by 
ri'ral pictures and exquisite grace, filling his mind "with a thousand fancies of 
emulation," and, at the same time, reminding him of a Shetland pony by the side of 
a race, starling for the plate. His judgment of English poetry was chaste and true. 
Pope, Dryden, Collins, CJray, Thomson, and Beattie were especially dear. I 
think that he never read much of Spenser, but Milton he revered. He hailed " the 
glorious poem, ' The 'I'ask,' " and admired the water-colour drawings of Hurdis. 
In prose he did not sliowso exact a judgment ; forwhile he loved the sweet serious 
morals of Addison, he suffered himself to be dazzled and beguiled by the rant of 
Ossian, anil the pantomime of Sterne. Nor may I forget the " Meditations" of 
Herve/, which have long been among the popular reading of Scotland. 

Of his personal character, the key was pride, often manifesting itself in arro- 
gance and injustice. He dines with Lord Glencairn, who has one other guest, a 
man of rank, to whom he shows becoming attention. The blood of the poet boils 
against the " blockhead," and he is on the point of "throwing down his gage of 
contemptuous defiance," for " Dunderpate" to take up. The incident recalls the 
pleasant story of Selden : — "We me.asure the excellency of other men by some 
excellency which we conceive to be in ourselves. Nash, a poet (poor enough, as 
•joets used to be), seeing an alderman with the gold chain upon his great horse, 
said to one of his companions, " Do you see yon fellow, how goodly, how big he 
looks? Why, that fellow cannot make a blank verse." "Dunderpate" was pri>- 
t ably a usefuller member of society than Burns. Such passages suggest a com- 
pari'-on with the American Cooper, shaking the dust off his feet, because an infirm 
nobleman entered a drawing riom before him. The temper o( Burns occasionally 
\n'Okh into open rudeness and insult. A lady asked him if he had nothing to saf 



xlvi LIFE AND WRITINGS 

of a fine scene before t><.em. " Nothing, madam," was his reply, while his eya 
glanced to the leader of the party, " for an ass is braying over it." 

The jKjlit'cs of Bu" ns took the part of his fancj', his friendship, or his pique. 
Scott, enclosing a fcv letters to Mr. Lockhart, remarked — " In one of them (to 
the singular old cutm.udgeon. Lady Winifred Constable) he plays high Jacobite, 
and on that accouiit it is curious ; though I imagine his Jacobitism, like my own, 
belonged to the f?ncy rather than to the reason." There is no need of conjec- 
ture. Burns acknowledges that his " Jacobitism was merely by way of vive la 
bagatelle" 

Of his religious opinions, a letter to Mrs. Dunlop (June 21, 17S9) gives a full 
and interesting account : — 

" I have just heard give a sermon. He is a man famous for his benevo- 
lence, and I revere him ; but frona such ideas of my Creator, good Lord, deliver 
me 1 Religion, my honouicd friend, is surely a simple business, as it equally con- 
cerm the ignorant and {he learned, the poor and the rich. That there is an 
incomprehensibly great Being, to whom I owe my existence, and that he must 
be intimately acquainted with the operations and progress of the Internal machin- 
ery, and cons-iquent outward deportment of this creature which he has made, — 
these are, I think, self-evident propositions. That there is a real and eternal dis- 
tinction bet.ween virtue and vice, and consequently that I am an accountable 
creature — that from the seeming nature of the human mind, as well as from the 
evident imperfection, nay, positive injustice, in the administration of affairs, both 
<n the natural and moral worlds, there must be a retributive .scene of existence 
ieyond the grave, — must, I think, be allowed by every one who will give himself 
1 moment's reflection. I will go farther, and affirm, that from the sublimit)', 
;,"cellence, and purity of his doctrine and precepts, imparalleled by all the aggre- 
gated wisdom and learning of many preceding ages, though, to appearance, he 
limself was the obscurist and most illiterate of our species, therefore, Jesus 
Christ was froni God. 

«*♦»»»♦«♦• 

" Whatever mitigates to woes or increases the happiness of others, this is my 
a-iterion of goodness ; and whatever injures society at large, or any individual in 
t, this is my measure of iniquity." 

" I hate," he said, upon another occasion, " the very idea of a controversial 
divini»v ; I despise the superstition of a fanatic : but I love the religion of a man." 
His lines had not f;\llen in pleasant places. Controversy was rampant ; and the 
truth, if trutii it were, was often told wiili the tongue of a viper. The religion of 
the heart he seldom found. Born and brought up a Presbyterian, the Gospel 
came to him =11 the roar of black Russell and the invectives of Father Auld. In 



OP ROBERT BURNS. xlvii ' 

BO dress couii the cretd look fair or engaging. A man of taste, in a kirk, has a 
feeling of Lcinq; snowed up in an inifiiriiished house, without a fire. A chill 
strikes him from the culd huilding and the colder worship. In one of the poel's . 

journals, we iicar him pouring out his intense disgust : — " What a iJO'ir, pimping ', 

business is a I'rcsl.-yterian place of worship : dirty, narrow, squalid, stuck in a corner j 

of old Popish grandeur, such as J/inlilhgow, .and much more, .Melrose." His 
greale.st countrymen have shared his dislike: liyron remcmhcred the fiery Ca)- ! 

vinism of his boyhood with a sense of personal injury ; the heart of Scott yearned j 

for liiat nobler and purer ritual which h.as breathed into its prayers tlie devotion ; 

and the language of the Apostles ; and the sentiments of Jeffrey arc known to \ 

have been of the same kind. | 

Presbyterianism in llurns's time was coarser and fiercer than in ours. Vu'^ar i 

in attire, wr.ithftd in look, menacing in speech, — it combined in its visage the most ■ 

repulsive features of the fairh. Nor had it always inward virtue to atone (or the i 

outward offence. 'Ihe Klders frequently showed the curiosity of the Inquisition; ' 

and in some of the Ministers might be seen the tyranny of the cowl, without the j 

romance. 

Wordsworth expressed his regret that, instead of writing poems like " The 
Holy Fair," in which the religious services of his cotmtry are treated with levity 
and scorn, Ihirns did not employ his genius in exhibiting religion luider the serious ' 

and affecting asj^ect which it so frequently takes. And Jeffrey paints a delight- 
ful sketch of a Highl.and Sacrament, with its Gaelic sermon preached out of tents 
to picturesque crowds in the open air, grouped on rocks by the glittering sea, in 
the mountain bays of a long-withdrawing loch, lint the vulgar and rabid fanati- 
cism, by which the poet was surroundcrl, had taken out of Religi<>u the beauty 
and the love. Her clothing was not " of wrought gold," and she never appeared 
in raiment of needle- work, nor in the company of beautiful attendants. 

Perhaps in no man of his age would the religious life, fitly i)lanted and nur- 
tured, have found a fruitfuller home. The soil was rich and deep. He wrote— 
" My i^rcat constituent elements are pride and passion. 'Jhe first 1 have endea- 
T5ured Jo humanize into integrity and honour ; the last makes me a devotee, to the 
war'.nest degree of enthusiasm, in love, religion, or friendship, — either of them, or 
all together, as I happen to be inspired.'' The organ was there, and the anthem 
slept. How majestic are the thoughts into which his devotional feelings are 
occasionally breathed ; — scattered, but solemn notes of a mind seUlom tuned or 
played upon, bat wonderful in its various and swelling mtrsic ! Read this confession : 
— " 1 have been, this morning, taking a peep through, as Yoimg finely says, ' 'l"h« 
dark j)ostern of lime long elapsed.' 'Twas a rueful jjrospect ! What a tissue at 
thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly ! My life reminded me of a mined teiTiple 
What strength, what proportion in some parts ! What unsightly gaps, what proi- 



xlviii LIFE AND WRITINGS 

trate niliis in oilers! I kneeled down before the Father of .Merci»-<, and said, 
' Fatlicr, I have shmed against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthj 
to bcc:il!ed thy son.' I rose, eased and strengthened." 

He ai>i>rovcd of "set times and seasons of more than ordinary acts of devo 
tion;" and hi: had certain S;iints'-days in his pocticrd calendar. 'J'hese wer» 
New Year's Day : the first Sunday of May ; " a breezy, blue-skied noon, som* 
time about the bej;inning, and a honry morning and a calm sunny day, about the 
end of autumn." With these holidays of the mind he associated particular sounds 
aiid flowers ; and especially in spring, he delighted to look upon " the mountaip 
caisy, the liarebell, the foxglove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the 
hoary hawthorn." He saiii — " 1 have various sources of pleasure and enjf>yment, 
which are, in a manner, pfCiiUar to myself, or some here or there such other out- 
of'the-way person. Such is the peculiar pleasure I take in the season of winter, 
more than the rest of the year. This, 1 believe, may be partly owing to my mis- 
fortunes giving my mind a melancholy cast ; but there is something even in 

''J'he mighty tempest, and the hoary waste 
Abrupt and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth,' 

which raises the mind to a serious sublimity, favourable to everyth'ng great and 
noble. 'J'here is scarcely any earthly object gives me more— 1 do not know if I 
should call it pleasure — but something which exalts me, something which enrap- 
tures me,— than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood, or higli plantation, in 
a cloudy winter d;»y, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and 
raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion ; my mind is wrapped up 
in a kind of emhitsiasm to Hiin wlio, in the pompous langu:«ge of the Hebrew bard, 
'walks on the wings of the wind.'" 

A poet seldom keeps his fame with his tongue; but tlie conversation of Ilurns 
was marked !>\ the stro'ig features of his genius: brilliant, sarcastic, tender, and 
fluent, the r.-ar and the tears oi the table were obedient to his summons. An in- 
habitant of Dumfries gave a lively impression of his nsanner by s;iying, that he 
seemed to be desperately in earnest. He did not always pick his subjects or his 
words. The sclioolmaster of Dumfries, indeed, put ui a claim on his behalf for 
unblemished language aiul thought ; and declared that lit had seen Hums dazzling 
and delighting a party during a long evening by the brightness and rapidity of his 
flashes, " wiihout even an allusion" that could oftend the most delicate hearer. 
I am unible to reconcile the i)anegyric with the confession of a biographer, who 
found the |.>oel's festive sayings quite unrepresentable ; but he knew his cor'pany 
and had jests lor Nicol, ballads for Stewart, and ribaldry for the bowl. 

The .-icccunts of his voice are contr.idictory. I have seen it ealled untimatli 
and harsh. Mr. Allan Cunninghan-. once heard Bums read Tarn U'Shanter will 



OF RUBER T B URNS, xlix 

hannony airl skill, following all the undulations of the sense, and expressing the 
humour and tlic awfiilne.ssof tlit .itory. Althouglx he never advanced into England 
beyond Carlisle and Newcastle, we are told by Curric that he had less of the 
Scottish dialect than Hume, who was polished by the fashion and literature ol 
London and Paris ; or Robertson, whose purity and elegance of composition are 
his chief cluiraoteristics. 

Burns came before the world as the "Ayrshire Ploughman ;" but a inere farm- 
servant he never was ; and in no sense of the word could he be styled an un- 
educr.ted poet. We must go to Suffolk, or Northamptonshire, to seek real 
ploughboys Inusting into song.- Bloomfield has told his tale; and the painful 
struggles of Clare are freshly remembered. He paid for such teaching as he got, 
by extra work in the field or the barn. The toil of eight weeks provided school- 
ing for four, h kind neighbour taught him to write. He was ignorant of gram- 
mar, and he had no books ; but the appetite was strong. 

In his fourteenth year, a boy showed to him the "Seasons;" and Clare, 
having saved up a shilling, set off to Stamford, in the dawn of a spring morning, 
to purchase a copy, and readied the town before a shop was open. 

Now look at Kurns, — over-worked, yet rejoicing in the pleasant scholarship of 
home ; by the time that he was ten or eleven years old, quite a critic in substan- 
tives and verbs ; improving his handwriting, or giving his manners a brush in the 
dancing-school ; within-doors finding a teacher in his father, a poetic nurse in his 
mother ; — one strengthening his judgment with good books and arithmetic, and 
the other charming his young fancy with legends and ballads of the country-side. 
He was jirobably a better English scholar than most boys of his .age who were 
then at Eton ; and his skill and power of composition might hardly be equalled by 
the lads wlui had passed into King's. 

In the liistory of every poet we read a new version of the " Faery Queen" 
found by Cowley in the parlour-window. Ramsay was the Spenser of Burns— 
" Green be the pillow," Scott said, " of honest Allan, at whose lamp Kurns lighted 
his brilliant torch." Fergusson shared the honour of kindling it, and the later 
minstrel borrowed from the elder the plan and the measure of several poems ; but 
he justly claimed the name of a disciple, not a copyist, for he repaid his debts 
with lavish interest. The one flower-seed sprang up a cluster of bloom. 

His earliest compositions were satirical ; and the first of his poetic offspring, 
»s he informs us, that saw the light, was the ludicrous portraiture of two muiisters 
hS "Twa Herds ;" " Holy Willie's Prayer" followed it, with "The Ordination," 
»aid"The Kirk's Alarm." Probably the "Epistle to Davie" preceded them. 
Burns was weeding in the kail-j-ard when he repeated some of the lines to hia 
brother, who thought it equal to Ramsay, and worthy of being printed. Robert 
was then twenty-five. "Death and Dr. Hornbook" he also rscited to Gilbetl 



LIFE AND WRITINGS 



holding the plough, while the poet wms letting tlic water off the field beside 
him. 

A sweeter tune mingled with these strains ; and when turning up the furrow, 
he composed tlie verses to the "Mouse," the " .Mountain Daisy," and otlier rural 
pieces. His poetical growth was quick, and lie had only the nightingale's April 
before the May. Hums has left examples of nearly every shorter form of rhyme ; 
the description, the satire, the epistle, the elegy, the love-song, the war-lay, and 
the epigram. He considered " 'J'am O'Shanter" to be his st.nidartl performance, 
and public opinion confirms liis own. I ivuist, however, confess that, in my judg- 
ment, the .«lory runs down too fast, and the blaze of imagination seems to be un- 
expectedly and suddenly quenched in a mean catastrophe, which is the mere stick 
of the rocket. At the same time it is proper to mention the contrary viewof ihos; 
critics — Miss Sew.ird in the number — who regard the jocose moral as adniirably 
in keei>ing with the general plan, and applaud the poet for laughing al bis objectors 
and rct.-iining the sjwrtive admonition. Tjjc story of " 'ihc 'Jwa Dogs " is not less 
admirable in another style. 

The .Scottish poems of P.urns can be thoroughly relished by his countrymen 
only. Cowper remarked, " Poor Ihirns loses much of his deserved praise in this 
country through our ignorance of his language. 1 ilespair of meeting with any 
Englishman, who will take the pains that I have taken to understand him. His 
candle is bright, but shut up in a dark lantern. I lent him to a very sensible 
neighbour of mine ; but his uncouth dialect sjjoiled all, and before he bad read 
him through, he was quite raniffczled.'^ Dr Moore seems to have anticipated 
this danger, when he warned the poet that all the fine satire and hmnour of 
"The Holy Fair" would be lost on the English, and urged him to abandon the 
Scottish stanza and <lialcct, and adopt the measure and language of modern Eng 
lish verse. 'J'he difficulty of comprehension is specially fell in the poems of humour 
and coiiunon life ; where a phrase, or a proverb, to the familiar ear brings with it 
a train of home recollections and i)leasures. In such cases, the dialect is the 
family accent. Frequently, however, the hindrance is scarcely perceived. In 
"The Cutter's Saturday Night," nearly every stanza has a different tone. Some- 
times he writes pure and simple English; another passage requires a j^Iiss.iry; 
and occasionally he contbines the two languages, and blends, w ih adir.irable 
effect, pathos, sublimity, beauty, and homeliness. Dryden said pleasantly ol j 
Theocritus, that e^en his Doric dialect has an incomparable sweetness in his clown- 
ishness — like a fai: shephenlcss in her country russet, talking in a Yorkshire tone. 
The Scottish songs of IJinns suggest the same agreeable comjiari.'on ; and a fiesh- 
ncss S]>aikK;s in every word, like dew on the heather-bell. 'J'he " latitudinal ian- 
ism"of the dialect is very accommodating to llie jioet, who is able bj- tliis .Scottish 
privilegti lo marry the most opposite and discordant rhymes. Spenser had set 

I 
I 



OF ROBERT BUR NS. li 

the Iv ill example of .i;wspclling a word whenever the exigencies of sound requireo 
it; andliuriis treated his syllaljlcs with the same freedom. 

The fidl harmony of his genius (lowed into his songs, of wliich the remark of 
Mr. Pitt was pre-eminently true, that he couKl tiiinkof no verse, since Shakspcare, 
n'hich had so nuicli the appearance of coming sweetly from Nature. Under the 
/ragram lurch trees, in the heathery glens, or among the moonlit sheaves, the 
gushes oi" innsic (lowed warm from his heart, 'ihe range of it is not large, and one 
mellow, plaintive, delicious love-iiotc always returns upon the ear in beauty. I'ul 
the song of Hums was no mere outpouring of rich sotnids. He bestowct' lime aild 
patience. " All my poetry," he said, " is the eHect of easy composition, but o£ 
laborious correction." Here is the interesting story, from his own pen :— " My 
way is— I consider the poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical 
expression; then choose my theme — begin one stan/a : when that is couiposed, 
whit;h is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down no>» 
and llun, look out for objects in nature round me that are in uni-on or harmOny 
with the cogitations of my fancy and workings of my bosom ; humnxing every now 
and ihcn tlie air with the verse I have framed. When I feel my nnise beginning 
to jade, 1 retire to the solitary fireside of my study, and there commit my efl'usions 
to paper ; swinging at intci vals on the hind legs of my elbow-chair, by way of 
calling forth my own critical strictures as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at 
home, is almost invariably my way." I'hc love-poetry of IJurns is, for the most 
part, desire set to nuisic. The unselfishness, the reverence, and the chiv.ijry of 
affection he did not appreciate, or felt himself unable to pt»rtray. Crabbe's tale, 
in the sctond letter of "The Horough," has a sublimity of tenderness and a truth- 
ful purity which the Ayrshire I'.ard never equalled. 

Johnson, running down Hamnu>ud, denies the reality of all atl.achment where 
there is fiction, and des[)ises a lover who courts his mistress with Roman imagery. 
Burns, too, swee[)S away darts, flames, and gr.aces, " as just a Mauchline rabble." 
I know not why pastoral courtship should be truer than classical, for imagery is 
only the reflection of feeling. We compare those whom we admire to things which 
we prize. A woman is not more like a rose on a castle wall, than she is like Diana 
with her quiver. The rose and the goddess are emblems of beauty, and the poet 
chooses the one or the other, as the flower or the figure may be most familiar 
and pleasing to liis memory. Taste moulds the lover. Nor is e.x.aggeration in- 
compatijjle with naturalness. Every poet m.agnifies a circumstance, and illuminates 
a heroine ; and by so doing, he van<iuishes the painter, and wins gratitu«Je for the 
pen. To Waller, and not to \'andyck, we owe the ideal charms of .Saccliarisa. 

The amatory compositions of IJurns are not so pure in spirit as the utter.ince is 
meIodit.ns. One of his correspondents wished to see the loose sentiments 
threshed out vf a parlicuLir song. There is ample room foi the flail, and vith 



Ill I IFF. AND \V KITIXCS 

loiijjcr life, nni! in more thoii^litfnl hours, the author would have handled it hlinfcif , 
with w h.il adv.(n(.tj;v: to the liner wheat and to his own enduring fame, I need nol 
•ny, for 

"Sweet tlus man could sinj;, as moruinn lark, 
And teach the noblest morals of the heart." 

The lanpiasc of Uurns is worthy of the poctrv : nninialed anil flcMlile, t :cm« 
bines synuni-iry with nniscle, ami harniouy willi NtrenRtii. In ihc ihoic c if the 
iUustralioM, the happy darint; of the phrase, the delicate tiu-:i of the e\|ires.sioi«, 
•nd t'ie tunefulness of the nuiuhers, he is seldom surpassed liy the most eultivMted 
of his hrethren. Kveii I'ope is not a rtnor study for distinctness ami precision. 

\Viinl>.worth expressed siuprise that Ihirns — passim; the fruitfid season t>f hii 
poetical life within >ij;l»t of splendid sc.i prospects, Ixumded liy the peaks of Arrnn 
— ^hould Ite tpiile silent respcctinj; them ; and he explains the peculiarit) hy the 
act, that, in the ivK'lry of Hums, natural appearances seldom take the lead. H« 
•(Tecls us ,is ,-( m.tn, lather than as a poet, l>y coiniium feelini^s uttered in the {xiet's 
voice. Kivers, liills, ami woods are blended in his mind wifh remembrances ol 
place, time, and sentiment. And I am iiuluctd to copy here the very elevjant ob- 
■erv.tlions of n true and a «ym|K«lhi/inj[; critic, a master ,uul a judije of the lyre:' 
—"It is evident, from almost all his pieces, that it was his ileli>{hl — indeed it w.is 
liis/J'r/i- — \.v> local iZi' the porsonaj;es of his poetry: whether the otVsprinj; of his 
brain like t^tila, .supernatur.d bein^js — like the dancers in Kirk Alloway, or national 
heroes— like Wallace and P.ruce, with the very wootls, and hills, and streniua 
which he fre<piented in his Ktyhood. And in his mind, this assimilation w.-\s so 
lively and abitlinj;, that there are few of his descriptions— descriptions in number, 
diversity, and pictiiresoue f<'atiiresselilum etpialled — ou which he has not cast such 
•linshinc of reality, that we cannot tloubt (hat they had their proloty|Ks in n.Uure, 
Mnd not in nature only, but in his native district. It is j)ruliable that the miii '. of 
every one of us lays the scenes of Scripture-narrative, of historv, of roi laiue, of 
eiMc poetry, in fact, of all that wc hear or read of, — in the places where we spent 
our childhood and youth: its, for example, the (larden of Kden in our father's 
orthard, where there were many fruit trees ; the battle of (.'ann;c on the wide 
Common, intersected with trenches; the enchanted castle of some siu]K.-ndous 
giant, upon the hill where the ruins of .i Saxon tower rise out of a thick w«>od. It 
is of some ailvanta.i;e. then, to the poet, lint the features of tlur landscapes, amidst 
which he fu>t dwelt, but more especially those of the nei);hbourliood w'lere he 
went to si hool, shouKl alVord rich and plastic materials, which ima.;;!nalion can 
diversify a milliin-fold.and soaccommod.tic as to make them the perpelu.tl iheatrt 



OF ROBERT BURNS. liu 

ef all that he lias l)e'n tnunlit torciiicrrili'TC'-nccrnins; those who have llvcrl hcfore 
him, and al.' .hat ho iiivuiits to increase the pleasures of memory to tliose that shall 
come after him. For it is not from the real and visible |)resence of thiiiKsihat the poet 
copies and displays; wherever he is, his 'heart' is still ' iintrav.jllcd ; ' and it ia 
from the clurished recollections of what early affected him, and could never after- 
wards he f-irftotten ihavin;; grown up into ideal beauty, uraiideur, and exiellenco 
ill his own mind , that he sin;;s, and paints, and scniplnres out imperishable forms 
of frncy, ihonyln, and feelin;;. In this respect, all the compositions of IJiirns aic 
homo^^eneuiis. He is in every style, in every theme, not only ili'.- patriot, the 
dcotclnnan, hnt the Scotchman the patriot <»f Ayrshire : so dear and indissjoluble 
irc the ties of locality to minds the most aspirin;; and independent. 

"ISnrns, .according to his own .icamnt, w:is distinyniNhed in childhood by a very 
retentive menicry. In the sti»rcs of that memory we discover the hidden trea^ire* 
of his nuise, which enabled licr, with a prodigality like that of natnre, to ponr forth 
iniageu and r)bject.s of every fr)rm, and colonr, and kind, whil.,-, with an economy, 
like that of the most practised art, she selected ami cond.ined the endless charac- 
teristics of pl«;aNing or magnificent scenery, with such siinpliciiy ;ind effect, under 
every aspei;t of sky or season, iliat the bar.l himself seems rather to be a companion 
pointing out to the eye the loveliness or horror of a prospect within <tnr own hori- 
zon, than the enrdianter creating a fairy s<;cnc visible only to imaginaiion. Ho 
appears to invent nothing, while, in truth, he exercises a nuK.h higher faculty than 
what is frecpiently calle«l invention. The genius of Finrns, like his native stream, 
confined to his native district, reflects the scenery on the ' iJaiiks of Ayr' with at 
much more truth and transparency ih.ui factitious landscapes are painted in the 
opaque pages of more ostentatious poets, .is the rertecti<iiis of trees, cottages, and 
aninials, are more vivid an.l diversified in water than the shadows of the bamc ob- 
jects are mi land." 

A word is due t(» the i)rosc of FJurns, The letters of poets iiidude delightful 
•peciniens of our language ; and the art of I'ojje, the pictures '.f tlray, the sim- 
»hine of Cioldsmith, the heart-scenery of CowjK-r, and the nature 'jf Siott, afford 
to some readers a livelier pleasure than their verses. The admirers r)f Hums add 
his name to the list. He could and difl write noble English, throbbing with life, 
fashioned in beauty, and moving in gr.ice. Uut the exa-nplcs are few. Hi^ heart 
w-irt seldom in the work :— " Kxcept," he assured .Mrs. l>imlo|., " when promptc-u 
by friendship or gratitude, or (which happens extremely rarely) inspired by the 
Muse that presides over epistolary writing, I sit down, when necessitated t" write, 
as I sit tlown to beat hemp." 

'i he aversion and the eff'.rl arc sufficiently consiiicuoiis, and the way to escape 
tncm is easily learned. "Just sit down as I do,'' w.i- the admohition .fOold- 
imilh to a licanty correspondent, "and write forward till you have filled ;U1 youl 



liv LIFE A ND WRITINGS 

paper; it requires no thought; my head has no share in all I write; my heart 
dictates the whole." In the same temper, Southey assures his wife, after lie had 
seen the young "Roscius," — " I could tell you how the actor pleased and disap- 
pointed ne ; but the story would take lime and thought ; and in letter-writing I 
lo\:to do nothing more than just say what is uppermost." Burns never failed 
when he let the afi'ections guide his pen, and wrote the uppermost thought as it 
rose. But Goldsmith was not his model. In youth he had been ensnared by the 
"wits," an:l Pope became tiie object of his imitation. With such an artist whc 
might contend? Burns possessed silver and gold ; but only skill the mo^t accom- 
plished, and practice untiring, could raise the rare chasing on the metal. These 
endowments he wanted, and his celebrated letters are themes, 'ihey have 3 
worse fault : his adulation is immense ; and no scribbler, bribing Harley for a 
meal, ever outshamed the replj' of Burns to the "Card" of Lord Buchan. 

But I will not linger on his faulL>, of which some did really lean to tlie side of 
virtue. And even flattery is occasionally the heart's voice speaking loud. Burns 
had in him the seeds of a noble character, and the ground was good ; but while 
he slept "his enemy came and sowed tares with the wheat," and the fruit and 
the weeds grew together. Jeffrey speculated on the hcalihfii! inlhicnce of pure exam- 
ples and wise lessons put gently before him. 'Jhe effort would have been hazard- 
ous, for his pride was full of eyes, alw ays wakefid. He boasted of it as a necessity 
of life, and wished to be stretched to his full length, in the grave, that he might 
occupy every inch of the ground to which he was entitled. His employment 
sharpened his tone. A moderate independence, literary leisure, and cultivated 
friends might have cherished a sweeter temper of charity and meekness in the 
poet-g.auger, weary of a weekly galhjp of two himdred miles, and the inspection 
of yeasty barrels. And what reader of Burns will refuse to echo the voice ol 
Wordsworth, in his sympathy and his prayer ?— 

" Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight — 
'J'hink rath<;r of those moments bright 
When to the consciousness of right 

His course was true, — 
When Wisdum prospered in his sight. 

And Virtue grew. 
Yes, freely let our hearts expand, 
Fre«:Iy as in youth's season bL\nd. 
When side by side, his Book in iiand« 

We wont to stray. 
Our pleasure varying at command 

Of each iiweet Lay. 



OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Throtigh busiest street and lonelic-st glcB 

Arc felt the flashes of his pen ; 

He rules 'mid winter snows, and when 

Bees fill their hives ; 
Deep in the general heart of men 

His power survives. 

Sweet Mercy ! to the gates of Heaven 
Tliis Minstrel lead, his sins forgiven;, 
The rueful conflict, the heart riven 

With vain endeavour, 
And memory of Earth's bitter leaven 

Effaced for c\ er. 

But why to him confine the prayer. 
When kindred thougiits and yearnings \m 
On the frail heart the purest share 

With all that live ?— 
Ike best of what we do and are^ 

JvsTCiooroRGiyst" 



WORK S 



ROBERT BURNS 



POEMS. 



THE TWA DOGS.^ 

A TALE. 

IvAu IR that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King 

Coil,' 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
Wlien wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs, that were na thrang3 at 

name, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 
The first I'll nanje, they ca'd him 

Cajsar, 
Was keejiit for his Honor's pleasure : 
His hair, Jiis sire, his mouth, his lugs, 4 
Shew'd he was nuMe o' Scotland's dogs ; 

* "The Tale of I'wa Dogs" was 
composed after the resolution of jjub- 
lishing was nearly taken, Robert had 
a dog, which he called Liiixth, that was 
a great favourite. The dog had been 
killed by the wanton cruelty of some 
person the night before my father's 
death. Robert said to me tiiat he 
should like to confer such imnic^riality 
as he could bestow on his olil friend 
Liiath, and that lie had a great mind 
to inlioihice something into the book 
under the title oi "Stanzas to the 
Memory of a quadruped Friend ; " but 
this plan was given -ip for the Tale as 
it now stands. Ca:sar was merely the 
creature of the jujet's imaginaliun, cre- 
■ted for the purjMjse of liolding chat 
with his favourite Lunth. — G. li. 

" \ I'iciish king, said to have givrn 
t name to Kyle. 3 ISusy. 4 Ears. 



Rut whalpit ' some place far ahroaii, 
Whare sailors gang to fish Un ("od. 
His locked,^ leiter'd, braw= brail 

collar, 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar ; 
But though he was o' high degree, 
The fient ^ a pride, na pride had he; 
Ihit wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gipsey's messi:)."* 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,S 
N.aetawted tyke,<> tho'e'er sae duddie, 
l>ut he wad stant, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' 

hhn. 
The titherwas a ploughman's collie,' 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,** 
Wha for his friend and comrade had 

him. 
And in his freaks had Taiaih ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highlanil sang,' 
Was made lang .sj'ue, — ].,urd knows how 

lang. 
He was a pash '" an' faithfu' tyke. 
As ever lap s sheugli " or dike. 
His honest, !,onsie, baws'ru'" face. 
Ay gat him friends in ilka [)lace ; 
His breas* Aas while, his unvzie '3 back 
Wecl r'ad wi" coal o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie'-* tail, wi' upwartl curl, 

' Whelped. ^ Handsome. 3 Fiend. 
* A small dog. = A smithy. 

6 Dog with mattetl hair. 

7 A country cur. « A brother. 

5 Cuchullin's dog in "Ossian's Fin- 
gal."— li. P.. '" Wise. 

" A ditch. " \Vhite-£t.-iped 

'•^Kougli. ''»J.ar2-. 



WORKS OF BUKNS. 



Hung owre his hurdles * wi' a swirl, 

Nae doiibi but they were fain o' ithcr, 
An' unco pack an' thick ihegiiher ; 
WT liocial nose whylcs snufl'd and 

siiowkir ;" 
Whyles mic^> and moudieworts they 

'howkit ; 3 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' ivorry'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' dafnn weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down. 
An' there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 

C.KSAR. 

I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you 

have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava.** 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents : S 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
He ca's his coach ; be ca's his horse ; 
He draws a boiniie, silken purse 
As lang's my tail, v^hare thro' the 

stepks,<> 
The yellow letter'd Geordle keeks. 7 
Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toil- 
ing, 
At bal ng, roasting, frj'ing, boiling; 
An' tiio' the gentry first are stechin.S 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan' 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and such like trash- 
trie. 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipjjer-in, wee blastit wonner,'° 
Poor wortiiless elf, it cats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a" the Ian : 
An' what jjour cot-folk pit their painch ^* 

in, 
( own it's past my comprehension. 

I.UATir. 

Trowth, Caesar, wlulcs they're fash't 
enough. 

* Lfins. ^ Scented. 

3 Digged. 4 At all. 

$ Dues of any kind. 6 Stitches. 

' Peeps. ^ Crauiniing. ^ St-^iuach. 

** Wonder. 



..^. 9 St- 
*' Paunch. 



A cotter howkin ' in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin" a dyke. 
Baring a quarry, and siclike, 
Himsel, a wife, he thus su-.tains, 
A smytrie^ o' wee duddie-i weans,i 
An' nought but his han' <larg,<> to keef 
Them right .an' tight in ih.ack an' rape.' 
An". when they meet wi' sair disas- 
ters. 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, 
Ye m.iist wad think, u wee touch 'tan- 

An' they maun star\'e o' caulJ and 

hunger ; 
But, how it comes, I never kcnd yet, 
'J'heyre maistly wonclerfu' contented ; 
An' iitiirdlyS chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way us lliis is. 



But then to see how ye're negleckit 
How huff 'd, .an' cuff 'd, an' disrespcckit 1 
Lord, man, our gentry care :is little 
For delvers, ditchers, ;iiv sic cattle, 
I'hey gang as suucy by poor folk, 
As I wad by a stinking brock.'' 

I've notice! on our Laird's court-day. 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' ca>h, 
How they maun thole "^ a factor** 

snash: '' 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse and 

swear, '- 
He'll apprehend them, poind '^ theii 

gear ; 
^Vhiie they maun stan', wi' aspect 

htunble, 
An' hear it a', an' fear and tremble ! 

I see how folk live ih.it li:ic riches: 
But surely poor folk jnaun be w retches. 



' Digging. ' Building. 

3 A immerous collection. ^ Ragged, 

5 Chiklren. _ << Labour. 

7 Clothing necessaries. 

S Stout-grown. ' Badger. 

""■ Kiuhire. " Abii^-c. 

'-".My indignation yet boils at ihc 
recollect ion of the sconiidrel factor's 
insolent liueatening leticM>, wliWi x';ed 
to set us all in tear.-,.' — R B. 

'3 Seize their goods 



POEMS. 



They're no sae wretchcd's anc wad 
think, 
Tho' oonstanrly on poortith's ' brink : 
Th.^v'rc sae uccLisiom'd \vi' the sight, 
The view ot gies them little fright. 

Then chan:e an' fortune are sae guided. 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' ».ho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a s\\ cet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o" their lives, 
Their grushie - weans an' faithfu' wives : 
I'he prattling things are just their pride, 
Tliat sweetens a' their hre-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can niak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
I'o mind the Kirk and State atlairs : 
They 11 talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin. 
And ferlie-' at the folk in Lonon. 

As bleak-facd Hallowinass-* returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting Kirns,5 
When rural lite, o' ev ry station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

1 hat merry day the year begins. 
They bar the door on irosty wins ; 
The nappy ^ reeks wi' mantling ream,^ 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring ^team ; 
The luutin** pipe, an sneeshin mill,' 
Are handed round wi' ri^ht guid will ; 
The cantie "^ auld folks crackin crouse, ' ' 
Ihe young anes ranting thro' the 

house, — 
My heart has been sae fain to see 

them, 
That 1 lt»r joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still its owre true that ye hae said. 
Sic game is now owre 9lten play'd. 
There's niunic a creditable stock 
O' decent, lioiioi lawsoni '' folk, 
Are riven out baith root an' branch, 
Some rascals i)ridefu" greed to quench, 
Vf';ia thinks to knit liimsel the faster 

' Poverty. * i hriving. 3 VV<mder. 
I ^ 31SI Ucicber. 5 Harvest-suppers. 
( ' Ale. ' Cream. « Smoking. 

[ ♦ Srmf:' b..x. '" Cheerful. 

; ' Co.ive..iiiig merrily. '- Seemly. 



In favour wi' some gentle MastfeJ, 
Wha, aiblins,^ thrang a parliamentin. 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin— 

CAESAR. 

^ Haith,^ lad, ye little ken about it; 
For Britain's guid ! guid laith 1 1 doubt it. 
Say, rather, gaun -^ Premiers lead him. 
An' saying aye or no'? they bid him: 
At operas an plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masqueradirg: 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft, 3 
lo Hague or Calais taks a waft. 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl. 
To learn Oon ton an' see the worl', 

'1 here, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entails; 
Or by Madrid he taks the rout, 
To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' newt;* 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
W — e-hunting amang groves o' myrtles J 
Ihen bouses drumlyi' (Jerman water, 
I'o mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows, 
l.ove-gilts of Carnival Signioras. 
For Britain s guid ! for her destruction! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction ! 

Li;.\TH. 

Hech,6 man ! dearsirslis that thegato 
They waste s.ae mony a biaw estate! 
Are we sae foughten an' harassd 
For gear to gang that gate at last? 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themsels w i' counlra sports. 
It wad for tv'ry ane be better, 
'J he Laird, the 'J'enant, an' the Cotter! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet '' o them's ill-hearted fellows; 
Excejjt for breakin o their timiner,8 
Or speakin lightly o" their Liminer,' 
Or shootin o a hare or moor-cock, 
'1 he ne era bit they re ill to poor folk. 

But will ye ttll me, Master Caesar, 
Sure great folk s life's a li(e o' pleasuicl 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer" 

them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them, 

' Perhaps. ' A peity oath. 

3 (Jiddy. 4 Fight with black cattle. 

5 Muddy. 6 Oh— .-.trange. 

7 A petty oath of negation. *> limber 
9 A woman of ill character. ^° Molest 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



CiCSAK. 

Lord, man, were yc but whyl js whare 
I uin. 
The gentles yc wad ne'er envy 'cm. 
It's true, llioy need na starve or sweat, 
Thro" winter's cai.ld, or sininier's lieat ; 
'I'hev've iiae sair wark to craze their 

Immcs, 
An' till auUI age wi' grips an' grancs : * 
lUii human bodies arc sic fools. 
For a' their colleges and s<.:hools. 
That when nae real ilU perplex them, 
They niak enow thjnisols to vex them; 
An' ay the Lss they hae to stnrt" them, 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh. 
His acres tilld, he's right eneugh; 
A countiy girl at her wheel, 
Her di/,":ens3 done, she's unco weel: 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
\Vi' cv'n down want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an" lazy ; 
Tho deil haet ails them, yet uneasy: 
Their days insipid, dull, an" restless; 
Their nights unc|uiel, lang, an' tasteless; 
An' cv'n their sports.their balls an' races. 
Their galloping thro" public places. 
There's sic p;»rade, sic pomp, an' art, 
1 he joy can scarcely ix-ach the heart. 

The men cast out in party m aches. 
Then sowther-* a' in deep debauches. 
Ac night, they're mad wi' drink an* 

w — rin^, 
Neist day their life Is past enduring. 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters. 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters : 
V>\\\. hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a run deils an jads thegither.S 
NVhyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie. 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nigh's. wi crabbit leuks, 
Pore owre the devil's picturd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer"s stackyard, 
An" cheat like ony imhangd black- 
guard. 

1 here's some exception, man an' « \j- 
man ; 
rut this is Gentry's life in common. 

l^y this, tho Sim \\*as out of sight. 
An' uaiktt gloat-.iing brought the night ; 



t «Jemeiit. 



- TrcibU 



5 Together. 



T\<! b VJ-clock himim'd wiMa«y diOH^ 
I'v: l-y ;' stood ro\.tin- i" the loan ; 
When up they gat, an' shook their lugi| 
Kejoic'd they were n.a iitt-ii, liut Uogs } 
An each took all" his several wsy, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Give him strong drink, imtil he wink. 

That's sinking in despair: 
An' liquor guid to fire his bhi'd, 

'I"hat"s prest wi' grief an' care : 
There let him Ikiusc, an' deep ciXOti*a 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er. 
Till he forgets his loves or debts. 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

So!oino)i's JVtKrrf's, xxxL 6, j. 

I.KT Other Poets raise a fracas 

'liout vines, an' wines, an* drankea 

IJacchus, 
An' crabbit names an' stories wrack ua* 

An' grate our lug,3 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us, 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse ! g\iid auld Scotch 

Drink, 
Whether thro' wimpling worms thoo 

jink. 
Or, richly brown, ream * owre thf; brink, 

In ghirious facin, 
Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, 

'I"o sing thy name ! 
Let husky Wheat the haught 5 adorn. 
An' Aits* set tip their awnie" horn, 
An' Fcase an' I'enns at een or morn. 

Perfume the plain, 
Iteze me on thee.*> Jnhn Marleycom, 

Thou King o' grain ! 
On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,* 
In souple"^ scones," the wale '-©'food ' 
Or tumbling in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an" beef; 



* Cows. • Lowing. 3 E.\r. 

* I'roth. 5 Valleys. (> Om\ 
' Bearded. 8 \n ende;»riiT| 

p'jiisr— I am happy in i .ee. 

^ Chews h'-'r rud.' '"^ FlcxibJ© 

" A kind of bread. » Tb« - 



POEMS, 



bur when thou pours thy strong heart's 
blood. 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame,' an' keeps up 

livin : 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy-dragf 'd wi' pine an' griev- 
in ; 

But oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, 
scrievin,^ 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited 3 I,car : 
■J hou cheers the ht,art o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' l-,aLor sair, 

At's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' (jentles thou erects thy head ; 
Vet humbly kind, in time o' need, 

The poor man's wine, 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants? 
Ev .1 godly meetings o' the saunts. 

By thee inspird, 
When gaping they l^esiege the tents, 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn 

in ! 
Or reekin on a New-year mornin 

In cog** or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritnal burn in. 

An' gusty 5 sucker ! 

Wlicn Vulcan gies his bellows breath. 
All' ploughmen gather wi' their graith,^ 
O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freaih 

r tir lugget caup ! ^ 
Then Bumewin^ comes on like Death 

At ev'ry chaup.^ 

* Belly. = Swiftly. 3 Stupified. 
< A wooden dish. 5 Tasteful. 
« Gear. 

' A wooden cup with handle. 
8 I'urnouin — Burn-lhc wind — the 
UlacksEiith. » Blow. 



Nae mercy, then, for airn' or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel. 
Brings hard owrchip," wi' sturdy wheel, 
The strong forehamn er, 
Till block an' studdie3 ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 
When skirlin'' weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright. 
How fumbling cuifs 5 their dearies slight 

Wae worth the name 
Nae Howdie*^ gets a social night, 

Ur plack^ frae thein. 
When neebors anger at a plea. 
An' just as wud'* as wud can be, 
How easy can tlie barley-bree^ 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 
Alake \ that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte "^ her countrymen wi' treason 1 
But monie daily wect their weason " 

Wi liquors nice. 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier '^ her price. 
Wae worth that brandy, burning trash f 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
'I'wins monie a poor, doylt, druken 
hash, '3 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, aiild Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes.'-* 
Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well. 
Ye chief, to you my tale 1 tell. 
Poor plackless devils like mysel. 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearihfu' wines to mell. 

Or foreign gill. 
May gravels roimd his blather wrcnchi 
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O' sour disdain. 
Out owre a glass o' Whisky punch 

Wi' honest men 1 

' Iron. 

^ A way of striking with their Limmei 
on the arm. 3 Anvil. •» Crying 

5 Blockheads. 6 A midwife. 
'' Tiie third part of a Scotch penny. 
8 Mad. ^ Juice. '" Blame. 

" Wesand. »- Ask. 

'3 A stupid fellow. *■♦ Enemies. 



IVORKS OF BURN'S. 



O Whisky ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless 
cranks 

Are my poor ve-ses ! 
Thou comes they rattle: their ranks 

At itlier's a — s ! 

Thee, Ferintosh ! * O sadly lost ! 
Scotland, lament fra coast to coast ! 
Now colic-grips, an' baridn hoast, 

May kin us a'; 
For I.>yal Forbes' chanjr'd boast 

Is ta'en awa ! 

llijie curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha niak the Whisky stells - their prize : 
Haul up thy kan', Deil ! ance, twice, 
thrice ! 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' Dake them up in brunstaiie pies 

For poor d — d drinkers. 

Foitune ! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks,3 a scone, an' Wh. sky gill. 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest, 
An deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs the best. 



THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY 
AND PRAYER 4 

TC, -THE SCOTCH KEPRKSENTATIVES IN 
THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

Dearest of Distillation ! last and best — 

How art thou lost I 

Parody on Alilton. 

Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
Wha 'epresent our brughs an' shires, 

* From Ferintosh, in Cromartyshire, 
where the Forbes family long had the 
privilege of distilling whisky, duty free. 

» Stills. 3 Breeches. 

< This was written before the Act 
anent the Scotch Distilleries, of Session 
1786 ; for which Scotland and 'ihe Au- 
thor return their most erateful tranks. 
-R. B. 



An' doucely manage our affairs 

In Parliament, 
To you a simple I'.ardie's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet * Muse is hearse ! 
Your Honor's heart wi' grief 'tv? td 

pierce. 
To see her sitten on her a — 

Low i' the dust, 
An' scriechen out prosaic verse, 

An' like to brust ! 

Tell them whae hae the chief direction, 
Scotkind an' me's in great affliction. 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavitse ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth. 

The honest, open, naked truth : 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth. 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south. 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch and gloom I 
Speak out, an' never fash your thoom I 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em : 
If honestly they cainia come. 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand .as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge yoiu 
back. 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell yourrrack* 
Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greetin owrc hei 

thrissle ;3 
Her mutchkin stoup as loom's a 

whissle : •♦ 
An' d — d Excisemen in a l)Ussle,S 

Sei/in a Stell, 
Triumphant cruihiu't like a nnissel. 
Or lampit^ shell. 



* Hoarse. 

3 Thistle. 

. 5 Bustle. 



= Story, 
•t Whistle. 
6 A kind of shell- fish. 



POEMS. 



flien on the tithcr hand present her, 
A blackguard Smuggler, right behint 

her, 
An' cheek-for-cl 10 w, ' a chuffie ' Vintner, 

(Jollcaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as Winter 

Of a' kind coin. 

Is there, thav bears the name o' Scot, 
But fecl^ his heart s bluid rising hot, 
I'd see his poor auld Mither's pot 

I'hus dung in staves, 
An' plundcr'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight 

Tiode i' the mire out o' sight ! 

But could 1 like Mont^omeries fight. 

Or gab like Boswell, 
There's som2 sark-necks 1 wad draw 
tight. 

An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your Hono.-s, can ye see't. 
The kind, auld, cant' ; Carlin greet. 
An' no get warmly »o your feet, 

An' g.-i.r them hear it ! 
An' tell them, wi' a patriot- heat. 

Ye 'vi'ina bear it ! 

Some o' you nif^ely ken the laws. 
To round the ueuod an' pause, 
An' with rhetoric clause on clause 

'Jo uak harangues; 
Then echo tbro' Sa ni Stephen's wa's 

Au'd Scotland s wrangs, 

Demp't' r 3-ttru'^ blue Scot I'sewarran; 
Thfi ■iJ'.h'*-de'esting, chaste Kilker- 

r? i 3 
An' t'.?t glib- Rabbet ^ Highland Baron, 

1 hi; Laird o Graham ; ' 
Au'ane, arhapihat's d — d auldfarran,^ 
Dundas his name 

Erskine.a spunkic' Norland billie ; 
True vJampbells, Frederick an' Hay; 



* Side by side. ° Fat-faced. 

3 Gcoige iJcmvster, Esq., of Diinni- 
then, in FoMais'.ire. •♦ Oath. 

5 Sir A<'.vn F e'guson. — R. B. 

6 IJuick an'l s.n'yo'.h-speaking. 

7 Ihe nn'.c of xM.ontiose.— R. B. 



» Sagacious. 



Fiery. 



An' Livingstone, the ba'.ild Sir Willie ; 

An inoiiie ithets, 
Whom auld Demosthenes, or 1 ully, 

Might own for brithers. 
Arouse, my boys ! exert ytnir mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; 
Or faith ! I'll wad my new pkiigh- 
pettle,' 

Ve'U see't or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 

Anilher sang. 
This while she's been in crankous ' 

mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Playd her that pliskie i;' 
An' now she's like to rin te.l-wud + 

About her Whisky. 
An' Lord, if ance they pit her tiH'tjS 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt. 

She'll tak the streets. 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

r th' first she meets! 
For God's sake, Sirs ! then speak het 

fair. 
An' straik^hcr cannie wi' the hair. 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' in>tant speed. 
An' strive, wi" a' your wit and lear,7 

To gel reniead. 
■Von ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi his jeers an' mocks; 
But gie him i het,8 my hearty cocks I 

E'en cowe the c.adie I^ 
An' send him to his dicng-box. 

An' sj)ortiii lady. 
Tell yon guid bluid o' auKl Boconnock'i 
Til behisdebttwamashlimi bonnocks," 
An' drink his health in an d Nanse Tin- 
nook's ' ' 

Nine times a-week, 

» Plough-staff. = Fretful. 

3 Trick. ■* Distracted. 

5 To it. 6 Stroke. ' Learning. 

8 Hot. 9 Terrify the young fellow. 

'° Thick cakes of mixed corn. 

" A worthy old hostess of the Au- 
thor's in .\L'Uichline, where he some- 
times studies politics over a glass of gtud 
auld Scotch Drink. — R. B. 



WORKS OF EURNS. 



li le some seheme, like tea an' wia- 

i necks/ 

\N ad kindly seek. 
Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
Hi need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, 

Y 3n mixtie-maxlic" queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle^ tongue; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; ■♦ 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung. 

She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Fortj', 
May still your Mithers heart support 
! ye; 

j Then, though a Minister grow dorty,5 
; An' kick your place, 

Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, 
before his face. 

God bless your Honors a' your days, 
Wi' soxvps o' kail an" brats o' claise,^ 
(In spite o' a' the thievisfi kaes 7 

That haunt St Jamie's ! 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 

I'OSTSCRII'T. 

Let half-starv'd slaves, in warmer skies 
.See future vines, rich-ckist'ring, rise ; 
Their lot .auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

Kut blyth an" frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn. martial boys, 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms. 
While fragrance blooms an' beauty 

charms I 
When wretches range, in famish'd 
swarms. 

The scented groves, 
Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms 
In hungry droves. 

Tlieir gun's a burden on their shouther ; 
They downa bide the stink o' powther; 

* Windows. ^ Confusedly mixed. 

« Fearless. 4 Cudgel. 

» S; ty. 6 Clothes. ? Daws. 



Their bauldest thought's a Link'ring 
swither ^ 

To st.an' or rin, 
Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' throw 
ther,= 

To save their skin. 
But bring a Scotsman frae his hill. 
Clap in his cheek a Highland eill, 
Say, such is royal Georges will, 
An' there's the foe, 
He h'ls nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 
Nae cauld, faint-hearted doublings 

tease him : 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees 

him : 
Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's. 
His latest draught o' breathin Ica'es hinr 

In faint huzzas. 
Sages their solemn een may steek,3 
An' raise a philosophic reek,"* 
An' physically causes seek. 

In clime an' season ; 
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 
Scotland, my au!d, respected Mither! 
Tho' whyles ye moisiify your leather. 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather. 

Ye tine 5 your dam ; 
Freedom and "VVhisky gang thegither 
Tak atf your dram ! 

THE LASSES OF TARBOLTON. 

WRITTEN IN 1781, IN THE I'OEt's 
23RD VEAR. 

In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper 
yoiuig men. 
And proper young lasses, and a', 
man ; 
But ken ye the Ronalds that live in 
the Bennals, 
They carry the gree ^ frae them a', 
man. 
Their father's a laird, and weel he cat 
spare't. 
Braid money to tocher 7 them a', man, 



* Hesitation. ' Pell-mell. 

3 Shut. ■« Smoke. 5 Lose. 

6_Palm. 7 Portion. 



POEMS. 

To proper young men, he'll clbk iu the 
hand 



Gowd guineas a hiinder or Iwa, man. 

There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant 
ye've seen 
As bonny a lass or as braw, man ; 
But for sense and guid taste she'll vie 
wi' the be.>-t. 
And a condu. t that beautifies a', 
man. 

The charms o' the min', the langer they 

shine, 

Themair.Hdiniration they draw, man ; 

iVhile peaches and cherries, and ro^es 

and lilies, 

They fade and they wither awa, man. 

If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a 
frien', 
A hint o' a rival or twa, man. 
The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang 
through the fire, 
If that wad entice her awa, man. 

1 he Laird S Braehead has been on his 
speed. 
For mair than a towmond or twa, 
man ; 
The Laird o' the Ford will straught on 
a board, 
If he canna get her at a', man. 

Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her 
kin, 
The boast of our bachelors a', man ; 
Sie sonsy and sweet, sae fully com- 
plete, 
She steals our affections awa, man. 

If I should detail the pick and the wale 

O' lasses that live here awa, man, 
The fault wad be mine, if they didna 
shine, 
The sweetest and best o' them a', 
man. 

1 lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell, 
My poverty keeps me in awe, man. 

For making o' rhymes, and working at 
times. 
Does little or naething at a', man. 

Vet I wadna choose to let her refuse, 
Nor hae 't in her power to say na, 



be poor, unnoticed, ol> 



For though 
scire. 
My stomach's as proud as thf.m a\ 
man. 
Though I canna ride in weel-booted 
pride, 
And flee o'er the hills like a craw, 
man, 
I can haud up my head with the bc>» 
o' the breed, 
Though fluttering ever so braw, man. 

My coat and my vest, they are Scotcfc 
o' the best, 
O' pairs o' guid breeks I hae twa, man. 
And stockings and pumps to put on my 
stumps, 
And ne'er a wrang steek in them a*, 
man. 

My sarkf they are few, but five o' 
them new, 
Twal' hundred, as white as the snaw, 
man, 
A ten-shilling hat, a Holland cravat ; 
There are no mony poets sae braw, 
man. 
I never had frien's weel stockit in 
means, 
To leave me a hundred or twa, man ; 
Nae weel-tocher'd aunts, to wait on 
their drants. 
And v^ish them in hell for it a', man. 

I never was cannie for hoarding o' 
money, 
Or claughlin't^ together at a', man ; 
I've little to spend, and iwething to 
lend. 
But deevil a shilling I awe, man. 



THE HOLY FAIR.' 

A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation ; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust, 

The dirk of Defamation : 

' Gathering. 

^ Holy Fair is a common phrase in tho 
West of Scotland for a sacramental oc- 
casion. — R. B. 

Fergusson, in his " Hallow Fair " a# 



irORKS or BURNS. 



A mask thai like the gorget show'd, 
Dye-\'arying on the piy^eon ; 

And fdr a iiiaiitle large and broad, 
He wrapt him in Keiij^ion. 

Hyp \:riyy ii-la-mode. 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
r walked forth to view the corn, 

An' sniififthe caller' air. 
The risin sun, owre Gaston^ muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 
The hares were hirplin ^ down the furs, 

The lav'rocks-* they were chantin 
W\ sweet that day. 

i\s lightsome! y I glowr'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin5 up the way. 
Twa had manteees o" dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart^ jinin : 
The third, that gaed a wee aback. 

Was in the fashion shinin, 

Fu' gay that day. 

The twa appear'd like sisters twin. 

In feature, form, an' claes ; 
Their visage wither'd, lang, an' thin. 

An' sour as ony s'aes :' 
The thinl cam up, h^p-step-an'-lowp. 

As light as ony lambie,** 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu" kind that day. 

Wi' bonnet afT, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 
I think ye seem to ken me ; 

I'm sure I've >een that bonnie face, 
Kut yet I canna name ye." 

Quo' she, an' laugiiing as she spak, 
An' taks me by the hands, 

Edinburgh, I believe, furnished a hint 
and title of the plan of the '* Holy Fair." 
The farcical scene the poet there de- 
scribes was often a favoiuite held of his 
abservatlon. and the n»ost of the inci- 
dents he mentions !iad actually passed 
before his eyes. — G. B. 

» Fresh. 

• The adjoiiiii 5 parish to Mauchline. 

3 Creeping. '' Larks. 

S Trippini^ * Gray. 

' Sioes. B Lanib. 



■ 'Ve, for my sake, hae gi'tn the ferk 

Of a' the ten conunands 

A screed ' some day, 
" My name is Fim — your cruaic dear, 

i'he nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Superstition here, 

An' that's Hypocrisy. 
Fm gaun to Mauchline Holy F.air, 

'Jo spend an hour in daffin :'■* 
Gin ye'll go there, yon rimkld^ pair. 
We will get famous laughin 

At them this day." 
Quoth I, "With a' my heart, Fll do't 

Fll get my Sunday sark** on, 
An meet you on the holy spot ; 

F'"aith, we'se hae fnic remarkin !" 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,S 

An' soon I nuade me re.ady; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 
Wi' monic a wcarie Iwdie, 

In droves that day. 
Here farmers gash, 6 in ridin graith 

Gaed hoddin ' by tlieir cotters; 
There, swankiest young, in braw braid* 
clailh. 
Are springin owre the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang. 

In silks .an' scarlets glitter; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in nionie a 
whang,' 
An' farls,"'l)ak'd wi' butler, 

Fu" cnunp that day. 
When by the plate we set our nose, 

Wecl heaped up wi' h.a'pence, 
A greedy glowr Hlack l.onnet " throws, 

An" we maun draw our tippcnce. 
Then in we go to see the show. 

On ev'ry side they're gath'rin. 
Some carryin dales, .some chairs vat 
stools. 
An' some are busy bleth'rii« " 
Right loud that day. 

' A rent. • Merriment. 

■•' Wrinkled. 4 Shirt. 

5 I'.reakfast-time. ^ Wi.se. 

" The motion of a countryman riding 
on a cart-horse. 

8 Strapping young fellows. 

9 String. '^ Cakes of bread. 
" Tlie Elder who holds the alms* 

dish. " Talking idly. 



POEMS. 



Here stands £ s>i«a co fend the show'rs. 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
There, racer Jess, an" twa-three w s, 

Are b.inkin at the entiy. 
Here sits a niw o' tittlin jades,' 

Wi' heaving breast an' bare neck, 
An' there a batch o' wabster^ lads. 

Blackguarding fra Kilmarnock 
For fun this day. 

Here, some are thinkin on their sins, 

An' some upo' their clacs ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd^ his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 4 

Wi' screw'd up, grace-proud laces; 
On that a set o' chaps, at watch, 

Thrang .vinkin on the lasses 

'Jo chairs that day. 

O happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him! 
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best. 

Comes clinkin down beside him ! 
Wi' arm reposd on the chair back. 

He sweetly does compose him; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck 

An's loof 5 upon her bosom 

Unkend that day. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
For Muodie6 speels' the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient da>'s, 

'Mang sons o' Ciod present him, 
The vera sight o' Moodie's face, 

To's ain het hame had sent him 
Wi' fright that day. 

Heir how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin an' ihunipin ! 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath. 

He's stampiti an' he's jumpin ! 
iTis lengtlien'd chin, his tuni'd-up snout. 

His eldritch 8 stjueel an' gestures, 
how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian iilasters. 
On sic a day ! 



Wliispering. 
'» Soiled. 
I i'aliu of the hand. 

Minister of Riccart Jn. 
• Uiiearil.ly. 



' Weaver. 
< Sample. 

7 Climbs. 



But, hark I the teiil h.ischan^'a its voice; 

There's peace and rest nae langer: 
For a' the real judges rise, 

Ihey canna sit (or anger. 
Smith ' opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aft" the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 
A lift that day 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral pow'rs an' reason ? 
His English style, an' gesture fine. 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld j.agan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o" faith in 

That's right that day 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
For Peebles,' frae the Water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' Ooci, 

An' meek an' mini ^ has view'd it, 
While Common Sense has t.a'en th* 
road, 

An' aff, an' up the Cowgate,'* 

Fast, fast, that day. 

Wee Miller,S neist, the Guard relieves, 

An' Orthodoxy raibles,^ 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes. 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables: 
But, faith ! the birkie' vaiits a Manse, 

So cannilie he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' .sense 

Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

Now, butt an' ben,8 the Change-house 
fills, 

Wi' yill-caup5 Commentators: 
Here's crying out for bakes'" an' gi'Is^ 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 

* Minister of Calston. 

' Minister of Newtown-upon-Ayr, of 
which the Water-fit was another nanie. 

3 Prim. •♦ A street so called, which 
faces the tent in IMauchline.J— R. B. 

5 Assistant-preacher at .Auchenieck. 

6 Rattles nonsense. '' Clever felloi* 

8 Kitchen and parlour. 

9 Ale-cup. ^° Biscuits. 



U^ORKS OF BURNS. 



Whils thick an' tlu^ng, an' loud an' 
lang, 
W lo;,'ic, an' \vi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end, 
Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

Leezc me on Drink ! it gie's us mail 

Than either School or College : 
It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, 

It pangs' us fou o' Knowledge. 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, 

Or ony stron.^er poli*in. 
It never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle" up our notion 

By night or day. 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body. 
Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer > about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, 

They're niakin observations ; 
While some are cozie i" the neuk. 

An' fonnin assignations 

'I'o meet some day. 

But now the Lord's aln trumpet touts. 

Till a' the hills a:e rairin. 
An' echoes back return the shouts ; 

Black Russel-' is na spairin : 
His piercing words, like Highlan 
swords, 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' Hell, whare devils dwell, 

Our vera " sauls does harrow "5 

Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, unbottom'd, lioundless pit, 

Fill'd fou o' lowin6 brunstane, 
^ha's raging flame, an" scorching heat. 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! ^ 
riie half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin, 
When presently it does appear, 

*Twas but some neebor snorin 
As'leep that day. 



' Crams. = Tickle. 3 Stir. 

< Minister of Kilmarnock, and de- 
scribed as equally awful in look and 
language. 

5 Shakspeare's Hamlet. — R. B. 

« Flamiu^. ' Whinstone. 



'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell J 

How monie stories past, j 

An' how they crowded to the ]*'S ■ 

When they were A dismist: j 

How drink gaed round, in cogsan \ 

caups, '■ 

Amang the furms and benche> ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches 

An' dawds that Day. 

In comes a gaticie,' gash (luidwife. 

An' sits down by the fire. 
Syne draws her kebbuck -' an' her knife, J 

The lasses they are shyer. I 

The auld (iuidmen, about the grace, ! 

Frae side to side they bother. 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es them' t' like a tether, 
Fu lang that day. 

Waesucks ! 3 for him that gets nae lass 

Or lasses that hae naeihing ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace. 

Or melvie-* his braw clailliing ! 
O Wives be nundfu', ance yoursel 

How bonnie lads ye wanted. 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day ! 

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattling tow. 

Begins to jow5 an' cntun ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they 
dow,6 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps 7 the billies halt a blink, 

'i'ill Lsses >trip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink. 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How monit hearts this day conveits 

O' simiers and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night, ire 
gane 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine. 

There's some arc fou o' brandy . 



' Jolly. - Cheese. 

» Soil. 

6 Tnsy can. 



3 Waesn:»f 



4 Soil. 5 To peal or ro-ir, 

? Gates. 



POEMS. 



An' monie jobs that daj begin, 
May end in Houghniagandie * 

Some ither day.' 



stanzas on the death of a 
favourh'e daughter.3 

W KITTEN IN 1792. 

Oh ! sweet be thy sleep in the land of 
the grave, 
My dear little angel, for ever ; 
For ever ! — oh no ! let not man be a 
sl.ive 
His hopes from existence to sever. 
Tho' cold be the clay where thou pil- 
losv'st thy head 
In the dark mansions of sorrow. 
The spring shall return to thy low nar- 
row bed, 
Like the beam of the day-star to- 
morrow. 
The rtower-stem shall bloom like thy 
sweet seraph form 
Ere the Spoiler had nipt thee in blos- 
som ; 
When thou shrunk from the scowl of 
the loud winter storm, 
And nestled tliec close to that bosom. 
Oh, still I behold thee all lovely in 
death. 
Reclined on the lap of thy mother, 
Wh.-n the tear trickled bright, when the 
?hort, stirted breath, 
Told how dear you were aye to each 
other. 
My child, thou art gone to the home of 
thy rest, 
Where suffering no longer can harm 

Where the songs of the good, where the 
hymns of the blest, 
I'hro' an endless existence shall 
charm thee : 

' Fornication. 

' Sharp diseases require sharp reme- 
dies ; and Mums' riclicule is said to 
have been of considerable use. 

•^ Jhedenih of his beloved child took 
place duiing his temporary absence 
from h'ine, on -.vhi-.h .)cuv \v.:\ ij.e^bjve 
hearl-si^eaking lines wc«e written. 



While he, thj' fond parent, must sigh- 
ing sojourn 
Thro' the dire desert regions of sor»* 
row, 
O'er the hope and mLsforlune of being 
to mourn, 
Ai.d sijih for life's latest morrow. 



DEATH AND DOCTOll HORN- 
BOOK.* 

A TKUE STORY. 

Some books are lies frae end to end. 
And some great lies were never penn'd: 
Ev'n Ministers, tliey hae been kenn'd. 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid," at times to vend, 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drinJc, 
And nail t wi' Scripture. 

But this that [ am going to tell. 
Which lately on a nij;ht befell, 
Is just as true's the rieil's in hell 

Or Dulilin city : 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a nuickle pity. 
The Clachan yill had made me canty, 
I wa na fou, but Just had plenty: 
I stacher'd ^ whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd 
ay 

Frae' ghaists an' witches. 
The rising moon began to g'owr 
The distant Cinnnock hills out-owre , 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

1 cou'd na tell. 
I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on Willie's mill. 
Setting my staff, wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker;* 
Tho' leeward whyles, against n \ -.vill, 

I took a bicker. 5 



* John Wilson, schoolmaster of Tar- 
bolton, who exc.ted the anger of liurns 
by lalking ofliis medical >kill. Wllsou 
sold medicine and gave advice :.cratis 

- Y\:. ^ S:a,gcro1. 

^ Steady. S A shcr» course. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



\ there wi' Sorrething did forgather,^ 
That put me in an eerie swither ;^ 
An awfj' scythe, out-owre ac shouther, 

Clear-dangling, hang : 
A threc-taed leister 3 on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ellstwa. 
The queerest shape that e'er 1 saw, 
Fox fient a \van\e ^ it had ava. 

And then its shanks. 
They were as thin, as sharp an" sma' 

As cheeks o' branks.5 

" Ouid-een," quo' I ; " Friend ! hae ye 

been mawin, 
When ither folk are busy sawin?" 6 
It seem'd to niak r. kind o stan', 
but naething spak ; 
At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye 
gaun, 

Will ye go back?" ' 

It spak right howe'— " My name is 

Death, 
But be na fley'd."--Quoth I, "Guid 

faith, 
Ve're maybe come to stip my breath ; 

But tent-' me, billie ; 
i red ye weel, tak car<; o' skaith,^ 

See, there's a gully !"'° 

' Gudeman," quo' he, "put up your 

whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if 1 did, 1 wad be kittle"^ 

'lo be mislear'd,'" 
1 wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard." 

"Weel, weel ! " says I, " a bargain be't; 
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're 

gree t ; 
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 
Lome, gies your news. 



* Meet. ^ Frighted wavering. 

3 Three pronged dart. 4 Belly. 

5 A kind of wooden curb. 

6 I'his ren':ounter happened in seed- 
lime, 1785.— K. B. 

"> Holljw. ^ Be careful. ^ Dama?e. 
»^ A large knife. " Difticuit. 

** " Put out of my art." — Chambers. 



This while' ye hae oeen mony a gaCA 
At mony a house." 

" Ay, ay ! " qui.' he, an' shook his head, 
" Its e'en a lang, lang time, indeed, 
Sin' I began to nick the thread. 

An' choke the breath : 
Folk maun do something for their bread, 

An" sae maun Death. 
"Sax thousand years are near hand 

fled. 
Sin' I was to the hutching bred. 
An* mony a scheme in vam's been laid 

To stap or scaur me ; 
Tillane Hornbook's" ta'en up the trade. 

An' faith, hell waur^ me. 

""Ve ken Jock Hornbook i' the Cla- 

chan,-* 
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleu- 

chan ! 5 
He's grown sae well acquaint wi* 

Buchan ^ 

An' ither chaps. 
The weans hand out their fingers 

laughin 

And pouk my hips. 

"See, here's a scythe, and there's a 

dart, 
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; 
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

And cursed skill, 
Has made them baith no worth a ^— 
D— d haet they'll kill. 

"'T was but yestreen, nae farther gr.en, 

I threw a noble thr(jw at ane ; 

Wi' less, I'm sure, Ive hundreds slain; 

But deil-ma-care, 
It just play'd dirl ' on the bane, 

But did nae mair. 



' An epidemical fever was then 1 ag- 
ing in that country. — K. B. 

^ This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, 
professiou.iily, a brother of the .Sove- 
reign Order of the Ferula : but, by in- 
tuition and inspiration, is at once aa 
apothecary, surgeon, and physician.— 
R. B. 

3 Worse. 4 Small village. 

5 I'obacco-pouch. 

6 " Buchau's Domestic Metlicine."— 
R. B. 7 A slight stroko 



POEMS 



"Hjrnbook was by, wi' ready ari, 
And had sae f(jrli(y d the part, 
TLat wlicii 1 looked to my dart, 

It was sac blunt, 
Fient haet o't wad hae picrc'd the 
hea.t 

Of a kail-ruiit.' 

'' I drew my scy«h<: in sic a fury, 
I r-ixr-hand cowpit* wi" my hurry. 
Put yet the bank! Apothecary 

Withstood the shock ; 
1 iright as weel hae try'd a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 

•\ ^.i then, a' doctor's saws and whit- 
tles, 
C a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kinds o' boxes, nnigs, an' bottles, 

Hes suie to iiae ; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 
As A IJ C. 

"Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 
True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; 
The Fariiia of beans and pease, 

He hast in plenty; 
Aqua-foutis, \\ hat you please. 

He can content ye. 

'* FoFbye some new, iinconunon wea- 
pons, 
Urinus ifpiritus of capons; 
Or Mite horn sliavings, filings, scrap- 
ings, 

Distill'd /-er sf : 
Sal-alkali o' Midge-iaii clippings. 
And inony mae." 

" Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole^ 

now," 
Quo' I, "if that thae news be true ! 
His Lr;.w calf-ward whare govvans'* 
grew, 

Sae white and bonnie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' tht; plew; 
They'll ruin Johnnie !" 

The creature graind an eldritch laugh, 
And says, " V'e neediia yoke the pleugh, 
Kirk-yards will so..n be lill'd eneugh, 
lak ye nae fear: 



' A cabbage -root. 

* Tbi grave digger 

* Ditijicb. 



= Tumbled. 
-R. B. 



Thej''ll a' be trench'd wi' 
she ugh ' 

In tw; 



mt ny a 



■three year. 
" Wharc I kill'd anc a fair strae-death,' 
By loss o" blood or want o' breath. 
This night 1 m free to tak my aith, 

'1 hat Hornbook's ^kill 
Has clad a score i their last clailh, 

I'.y drap and pill. 
" Av honest Wabster ^ to his trade, 
Wh.ase wife's twa nieves were scarce 

weel-breil. 
Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

When it was sair : 
The wife slade^ cannic lo her bed, 

l>ut neer sp;ik niair. 
"A countra Laird had laen the batts,3 
Or some curuuirring' in his guts. 
His only son for Hornljook sets. 

An' pays him well. 
The lad, for twa guid ginuner-pets,' 

Was Laird himsel. 
"A bonnie lass, ye kend her name. 
Some ill-brewn drink had hov'u*^ her 

wnme : 
She trusts herscl, to hide the shame 

In Hornbook's care: 
Horn sent her aft" to her lung hanie, 

'lo hide it there. 

"That's just a swatch '^ o' Hornbook's 

way ; 
Thus goes he on from day to day. 
Thus does he poison, kill, an" slay, 

All's wcel pay'il for't; 
Yet stops me o" mv lawtu' prey, 

Wi' his d-d dirt. 
"But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
Tho' dinna ye be speaking .>"t ; 
I'll nail the self-conceiteJ Sot 

As dead s .i lierrin ; 
Niest time we meet, I'll wad "a great 

He gets his fairin ! " 

But just as lie began to t«»ll. 

The aulk kirk-hammer strak the bell 



' Ditch. " A death in Vted 

^ Weaver. * Did slide. 

5 Hots. *Aiuml)hng. 

7 Two-year old sheep. ^ Swelled. 

9 Sample. *'•' Bet. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 
Which rais'd as bailh : 

C tock the way that pleas'd niysel, 
And s.ie did Death. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

A rOEM. 

INSCRIBED 1 JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ., 
OK AYR. 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic 
plough, 

Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry 
bough ; 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow 
thrush : 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the 
green thorn bush ; 

The soaring lark, the perching red- 
breast shrill, 

Ordeep-iond plovers, grey, wild-whist- 
ling o'er the hill ; 

Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly 
shed. 

To liardy independence bravely bred. 

By early poverty to hardship steel'd. 

And train'd to arms in stern Misfor- 
tune's field : 

Shall he be guilty of their hireling 
crimes. 

The ser\'ile, mercenary Swiss of 
rhymes? 

Or labour hard the panegj'ric close, 

With all the venal soul of dedicating 
Prose ? 

No ! though his artless strains he rudely 
sings, 

And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the 
strings. 

He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 

Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear 
reward. 

Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he 
trace, 

Skill'd iu the secret, to bestow with 
grace ; 

Whei Hallantyne befriends his humble 
name. 

And hands the rustic Stranger up to 
fame. 



With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom 

swells, 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



*Twas when the stacks get on theii 

wiiitcr-hap, 
And thack ' and rape secure the toil- 
won crap ; 
Potatoe-bings^ are snugged up frae 

skaith3 
O'comingWinter's biting, frosty brt ith, 
'I'he bees, rejoicing o'er their su:nmer 

toils, 
Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious 

spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massiv« 

waxen piles, 
Are dooin'd b>' man, that tyrant o'cf 

the weak, 
The death o" devils, smoord •* wi' brim* 

stone reek ; 
The thund'ring gxms are heard on ev'ry 

side. 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter 

wide ; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by 

Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one car 

nage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly 

bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless 

deeds !) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow 

springs ; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert 

rings, 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling 

glee. 
Proud o" the height o' some bit half- 

lang tree : 
The hoary morns precede the sunny 

days. 
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the 

noontide blaze. 
While thick the gossamour wastes wan- 
ton in the rays. 

'Twas in that season, when a simple 
Bard, 



' Thatch. 
3 Injury. 



Potato heaps. 
'^ i>n.oiliercd. 



POEMS. 



«» 



«,' • kiio-vii ind poor, simplicity's reward, 
^tf u-'ht, \'ithin the ancient brugh of 

Ayr, 
f\i> 'vbiiu nspir'd, or haply prest wi' 

cire 
yis 'fft hi- bed and took his wayward 

rout 
A* € d.<wn by Simpson's' wheel'd the 

1 ;lt iboiil : 
(Vr eMxcr impell'd by all-directing Fate, 
.*i. \ 'ituoij vhat 1 alter shall narrate ; 
0» whether, .-jipt in meditation high, 
li. » wander'd out he knew not where 

nor wliy :) 
TI t drowsy Dungeon clock "had num- 

ber'd two, 
A-id Wallace I'ow'r^ had sworn the 

fact was true ; 
Tl t tide-swoln firth, wi' sullen-sound- 
ing roar, 
Through the still night dash'd hoarse 

aloi:g tile shore : 
A'l else was Imsli'd as N.iture's closed 

e'e ; 
TSe silent moon shone high o'er tow'r 

and tree : 
Tlfl chilly frost, beneath the silver 

beam. 
Crept, gently-crusting, owre the glit- 
tering stream. — 
When, lo ! on either hand the list- 

'nin^ Hard, 
The clanging sugh-* of whistling wings 

is heard ; 
Two c'lisky forms dart thro' the mid- 
night air, 
Swift i s the gos 5 drives on the wheel- 

i ig hare : 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape 

uprears. 
The ither fliuters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
Tlie Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr 

preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nac 

joke, 

* A noted tavern at the Auld Brig 
End.— R. B. 

^ In t!ir old prison of Ayr, 

5 Which formerly stood in the High- 
•trcet. 

•* \ rushing sound of wind. 

5 The gos-hawk, or falcon. — R. B. 



And ken the lingo of the sp'ritujl folk ; 
Fays, Spunkics, Kelpies, a", they can 

c.\ plain them. 
And even the vera deils they brawly 

ken them.) 
Auld Brig appe.-ir' d o' ancient Pictish 

race, 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seeni'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd 

lang. 
Yet, teughly' doure, he bade an unco 

bang. 
New Brig was buskit,' in a braw new 

coat. 
That he, at Lon'on, fraeane .Adams got ; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's 

a bead, 
Wi' virls an' whirlygigums^ at the 

head. 
The- Goth was stalking round with 

• an.vious search, 
Spying the time-worn Haws in ev'ry 

arch ; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took 

his e'e, 
And e'en a ve.\'d and angry heart had 

he! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish 

mien. 
He down the water, gies him this guii* 

een : •• — 

AULD BKIG. 

I doubt na, Frien', ye'll think yc're nae 

sheepshank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank 

to bank ! 
Bvit gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith ! that date, 1 doubt, ye'll 

never see ; 
There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a 

bodle.S 
Some fewer whigmeheries^ in your 

noddle. 

NEW nuiG. 
Auld Vandal, ye but show you« little 

men>e,7 
Just much about it wi' your scanty 

sense ; 

* Toughly stout. ' Dressed. 
3 Useless ornaments. 

* Good evening. S A small gold coin. 
I 6 Fancies. ^ G »od manners. 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



Will your -poor, narrow foot-path of a 

street, 
Where twa whccl-barrows tremble 

when ihcy meet, 
Vour nind, formless bulk o' staneand 

lime, 
Cinipare \vi' bonnie Brigs o' modem 

time? 
Thci e's men of taste wou'd tak the 

I)-.icat strcan.,' 
ITic they sli jiild cast the vera sark and 

swim, 
Ere ihey wo ild grate their feelings wi' 

tlie view 
O sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AIM.D BRIG. 

Conceited gnwk!' puff'd up wi' 

wii.dy pride ! 
This niuny a year I've stood the flood 

an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy cild I'm sair for- 

fairn,^ 
I'll be a Hrig, when ye' re a shapeless 

cairn ! 
As yet yc liitle ken about the matter. 
But iwa-tliree winters will inform ye 

better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day 

rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the 

plains: 
When fioin the hills where springs the 

brawling Coil, 
Orst.itely l.u^arsmoisy fountains boil, 
Or where tlie Creenock winds his 

moorland course. 
Or haunted Clarpjil ■• draws his feeble 

source, 
Arotis'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting 

thowcs.S 



* A noted ford, just above the Auld 
Brig.— K. 15. 

* A term of contempt ; fool. 
3 Distressed. 

* 'llie l)anks of Carpal Water is one 
of the few places in the We>t of Scot- 
la:iJ where those fancy-scaring beings, 
kiiov\ n l)y the iiameof gliaisis, still con- 
tinue periiuaciously to L'Uiabit. — R. 13. 

S ihaws. 



In mony a torrent down hi i snsw Lroo* 

rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on tht »oa*» 

ing speat,* 
Sweeps dams, an' mill.i, an' brigs, a' to 

the gate ; 
And from (llcnbuck,^ down to the 

Kattun-key,-» 
Auld Ayr is ju.>t one lengthen'd, iUiuU* 

Img sea ; 
Then down yell huil, deil nor ye iicver 

rise ! 
And dash the gumlieS jaups^ up to 

the pouring ski>.'s. 
A lesson sadly leaching, to your cost, 
'I'hat Archiiecttne's noble art is lost ! 

NEW BKIG. 

Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs 
must say't o"i ! 

The Lord be thankit that we've tint 
the gate o"t !7 

Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 

Hanging with ihreat'ning jut, like pre- 
cipices : 

O'er-arching, mouldy, glgom-inspiing 
coves, 

Suppoiting roofs fantistic, sto..y 
groves : 

Windows and doors in nameless sculp- 
tures drest. 

With oitler, symmetry, or taste uil- 
blest : 

Forms like some bedlam Statuary'* 
dream. 

The cra/'d creations of misguided 
whim ; 

Forms niij;Iit be worshij p'd on the 
bended knee. 

And still the second dread command 
be free, 

Their likeness is not found on earth, 
in air, or sea. 

Mansions that would disgrace the build- 
ing taste 

Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 

' Snow-water. ' Torrent. 

3 'Ihe source of the R.vcr A y r.— 
R. 15. 

* A small landing-place abovt thw 
large kev.-R. 15. 

5 Muddy. 6 Jerks of wiUor. 

' Lost tbe way of iu 



POEMS. 



W'u only for a doited monkish race, 

Or frosty -naids forsworn the dear cm- 
brace ; 

Or cuifs ' of later times, wha held the 
notion 

That sullen gloom was sterling, true 
dev(jtion ; 

Fancies that our guid Briigh^ denies 
protection, 

And soon may they expire, unblest 
with resurrection ! 

AUI.I) lUMG. 
O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient 

yearlings, 3 
Wei eye but here to share my wounded 

feelings ! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
Wha ill the path>> o' righteousness did 

toil ay ; 
Ye dainty l^eacons, an' ye douce Con- 

vecners. 
To wliorn our moderns are but causey- 
cleaners I 
y godly Councils wha hae blest this 

t'jwM : 
Y»; godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, 
V/ha meekly gie your hurdies to the 

sniiters; 
And (what would now be strange) ye 

godly Writers : •♦ 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the 

br<jo,5 
Were ye biii here, what would ye say 

or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep 

vexaiioti, 
To see each melancholy alteration : 
P nd agonizing, curse the time and place. 
When ye bc^at the Ixise, degen rate 

race I 
Nae langer Rev' rend Men, their coun- 

iry'sgK.ry, 
In p'-un, bnud Scot., hold forth a plam, 

braid story ; 
Nae lander tluilty Citi/ens, an* douce, 
Meet o.vri.- u p.iit, or in the Council- 

liou?,e ; 
Uut Elaunirtl,<> corky-headed, graceless 

tientry. 



* Block heads, 

3 (.ot.-vil-,. 4 Lu^ yers^ 

* Half-witted. 



Burgh. 
5 Water. 



The herryment' and ruin cf the cotintryi 
Men, three-parts made by Tailors and 

by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd" gear on 

d — d new Brigs and Harbours 1 

NKW BRIG. 

Now hand you there ! for faith ye've 

said enough, 
And muckle mair than ye can mak tc 

through ; < 
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but 

little, 
Corbies-* and Clergy are a shot right 

kittle : 
But, under favour o' your langcr Ijeard, 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weei be 

sjvir'd ; 
To liken them to your au'd-warld sqtiadf 
I must needs say, ccjinparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can have a 

handle 
To mouth "a Citi;ren," a term o* 

scfindal : 
Nae mair the Council waddles down 

the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
Men wha grew wise png^in5 ower 

hops an' raisins, 
Or gathered lib'ral views in Bonds and 

Seisins. 
If liaply Knowledge, on a random 

tramp. 
Had shord^ them wi' a glimmer of his 

lamp, 
And would to Coininon-scnse for one* 

betray'd them. 
Plain, dull Stupidity slept kindly in ta 

aid them. 

What farther clishmaclaver^ might 

been said. 
What bliK)dy wars, if Sprites had blood 

to shed. 
No man c;in tell ; but all lefcre their 

sight 
A fairy train appeared in order bright : 
Adown the guttering stieain they 

fi-atly ** danc'd ; 



' Devastation. '' We.ll-saied 

3 Make out. •• Crinvs. 

5 Cheapening. 6 'Jhreatened. 

1 Idle conversation. * /sprucely 



H^ORKS OF BURNS. 



Bright to the moon their varic us dresses 

glanc'd : 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so 

neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath 

their feet : 
While arts of MinstreUy among them 

rung, 
And soul-cnnoblifg Bards heroic ditties 

sung. 
O had M'Lauchlan,' ihairm" inspir- 
ing sage. 
Been there to hear this heavenly band 

engage. 
When thro" his dear strathspeys they 

bore .viih Higliland rage. 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melt- 
ing airs. 
The lover's raptured joys, or bleeding 

cares ; 
How would his Highland lug^ been 

nobly fir'd, 
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer 

touch inspir'd! 
No guess could tell what instrument 

appear'd, 
But all the soul of Music's self was 

heard ; 
Harmonious concert rimg in every part, 
While simple niclody pour'd moving on 

the heart. 
The Genius of the Stream in front 

appears, 
A venerable chief, advanc'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-liiies 

crown'd, 
His manly leg with garter-tangle ^ 

bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the 

ring. 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand 

with Spring ; 
rhen, crow n;<.l with flow'ry hay, came 

Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming 

eye : 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing 

horn. 



* A well-known performer of Scottish 
Diusic on the violin. — R. B. 
^ Fiddle-string. 
3 Ear. * Sea-weed. 



Led yellow Auiumn wre.u^'d with nod 

ding corn ; 
Then Winters tiine-bleach'd locks di<i 

hoary show, 
By Hospita-ity with cloudless brow. 
Mext fo. lowed Coinage with his maitial 

stride. 
From where the Feal* wild-woody 

coverts hide ; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant lir, 
A Female form, caniw from the tow'js ol 

Stair : - 
Learning and Worth in equal meaju.es 

trode 
From simple Calrine,^ their loiig-lov'd 

abode : 
Last, whiie-rob'd Peace, crow n"d >vilh 

a hairel wreath, 
T-» rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
I'hc broken, iron instruments oi' dervch : 
At sight of whom our Sprites fori^at 

their kindling wrath. 



I'HE ORD1NATION.4 

For sense, they little ow e to frugal 

Heav'n — 
To please the mob, they hide tlie 

little giv'n. 

Kii.M.ARNOCK Wabsters,S fidge auS 
claw, 
An' pour your crceshie^ nations ; 



* Feal is a small stream that ruiU 
near Coilsfield. 

^ 'I'he allusion is to Mrs. Stewart, 
of Stair. 

3 On the banks of Ayr, where Pro- 
fessor Stewart resided when not occu- 
pied by his work at Edinljoro'. 

4 'Ihe "Ordination" grew out of a 
Kirksqu.ibble, in Kilmarnock, between, 
the " high-rtying" and the "moderate" 
party, who were vanquished in the fray ; 
a high-flying minister basing obtained 
the appointment. Burns endeavoured 
to consol : the defeated "nioderatei" 
with ;i vision of the expected ceremony. 
" Maggie Lauder," as we are uifomiej 
by Burns, was the maiden name of tl^e 
Rev. Mr. Lindsay's wife. 

5 Weavers. 6 Greasy. 



POEMS. 



Kxi ye whs; leather rax^ an' draw, 

Ot" a' denominations, 
l^with^ to the l,aigh Kirk, ane an' a'. 

An' there tak up your stations 
Hien aff to Hegljie's in a raw,? 

An' pour divine libations, 

For joy this day. 

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell, 

Cam in \vi' Maggie Lauder ; 
but Oliphant aft made her yell. 

An' Russel sair misca'd her ; 
■J'his day IM'Kitday taks the flail, 

An' he's the boy will blaud"' her ! 
We'll clap a shanganS on her tail. 

An' set the Ijairns to daud^ her 
Wi' dirt this day. 

Aiak haste an' turn king David owre, 

An' lilt ' wi' holy clangor : 
O' double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl 8 up the Bangor: 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,^ 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

And gloriously shell whang her 
Wi' pith this day. 

Come let a proper text be read, 

A.n' touch it off wi' vigour. 
How graceless Ham'" leugh'' at his 
Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger:'^ 
OrPhineas '^ drove the murdering blade 

Wr w — e-abhorring rigour ; 
Or Zvpporah,^-* the scauldin' jade, 

'vVhs like a bluidj' tiger 

r th' Inn that day. 

Xhe-e, trj' his mettle on the creed, 
Ard bind him down wi' caution. 

That Stipend is a carnal weed 
He taks but for the fashion ; 



* Stretch. ^ Get away. 

* Ruw. 4 Slap. 

5 A stick cleft at one end. 6 Pelt. 

/ Sing. 8 Shriek. 9 Dust. 

'° Genesis ix. 22.— R. B. 

" Did laugh. »2 ^ jjgg^Q_ 

'^ Numbers vxv. 8.— R. B. 

*• Exodus iv. 25.— R. B. 



An' gie him o'er the flock, to f.-ed. 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin', 

Spare them nae day. 
Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail. 

An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte' out-owre th 
dale, 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o" gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in jilenty, 
An' runts o' grace the pick an" wale,* 

No gie'n by way o' dainty, 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel streams we'll weep^ 

'I'o think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep. 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin : 
Come, screw the pegswi' tunefu' cheeft' 

And o'er the thairms-* be tryin ; 
Oh rare ! to see our el bucks wheep,S 

And a' like lamb-tails flyin 

Fu' fast this day ! 

Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,^ 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin. 
As lately Fen wick, sair forfairn, 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencaim, 

He saw mischief was brewin ; 
And like a godly, elect bairn, 

He's wal'd^ us out a true ane. 

And soimd this day 

Now, Robinson, harangue nae mair, 

But steekS your gab for ever : 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they 11 think you clever; 
Or, nae reflection on your lear. 

Ye may commence a Shaver ; 
Or to the Netherton^ repair, 

And turn a Carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand this day. 

Mutrie and you were just a match. 
We never had sic twa drones : 

Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch 
Just like a winkin baudronc." 

' Bellow. - Choice. 3 Chirp 

'' Strings. 5 Elbows jerk. 6 \\oxk. 
' Ctiosen. 8 Shut. 

9 A district of Kilmarnock. *° Cat 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



And ay he catch'd the titbcr wretch, 
To fry them in his caiiJrons ; 

But now his Honor maun detach, 
\Vi' a' his brimstone squadrons. 

Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's swingein thro' the city : 
II .irk, how the nine-tail d cat she plays! 

1 vow its unct pretty ' 
There Learning, with his (ireekish face, 

Gnnus out some Latin litt> ; 
And Conunon Sense is t;uiui, she says. 

To mak to Jamie Ueaitie 

Her plaint this day. 

But there's Morality hinisel. 

Embracing all opinions; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peclin onions ! 
Now there, — they're packed aff to hell, 

And bauish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae m:iir find quarter : 
M'Kinlay, Russel are the boys 

1'hat Heresy can torture ; 
rhey'll gie her on a rape a hoyse * 

Acd cowe" her measure shorter 

I'.y th' head some day. 

Come, bring the tither niutchkin^ in. 

And here's, for a conclusion, 
To every New l>ight •♦ mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion : 
If mair they deave5 us with their din. 

Or Patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk,^ and, ev'ry skin. 

We 11 rin them alTin fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



* A pull upwards. * Lop. 
3 An Knglish pint. 

♦ New Light is a cant phrase, in the 
West of Scotlani', for those religions 
opinions which I )r Taylor, of Norwich, 
fes so strenuou.* ly defended. — R. B. 

5 Deafen. 6 a uKitch. 



TO THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES 
JAMES FOX. 

(a political sketch, wkitten rv 
1789.) 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and 

imite ; 
How virtue and vice blend llieir black 

and their white : 
How gonius, the illustrious father ^i 

fiction. 
Confounds ride and law, reconciles 

contradiction — 
I sing: if these mortals, the critics, 

should bustle, 
I care not, not 1 — let the critics go 

whistle ! 

But now for a patron, whose name 
and whose glory 
At once may illustrate and honoiu" my 
story. 

Thou first of our orators, first of our 

wits ; 
Yet whose parts and acquirements 

seem mere lucky bits ; 
With knowledge so vast, and with 

judgment so strong, 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went 

far wrong ; 
With passions so potent, and fancies so 

bright. 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went 

quite right :^ 
A sorry, poor niisbegot son of th« 

Muses, 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses 

Good Lord, what is man? forassin;plr 

he looks, 
Do but try to develop his hooks and his 

crooks : 
With bis depths and his shallow.,, h's 

good and his evil ; 
All in all he's a problem mustpu/zle the 

devil. 
On his one niling passion Sir Pope 

hugely labours, 
That, like the old Hebrew walking- 
switch, eats up its neighbours, 
Mankind are his show-box — a fr>-Mcl, 

would you know him t 



POEMS. 



Pull the string, rulina; passion the pic- 
ture will show him. 

What pi V, in rearing so beauteous a 
system, 

One trifling particular truth should have 
missd VAm ; 

For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, 

Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our qualities each to its 

tribe, 
\nd think human nature they truly 

describj ; 
Have you found this, or t'other? there's 

more in th^ wind, 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades 

you'll find. 
But such is the tlaw, or the depth of 

the plan. 
In lite make of that wonderful crenture 

r.all'd man. 
No two virtues, whatever relation they 

ckiim. 
Nor even two different shades of the 

same, 
Though like as was ever twin brother 

to brother, 
Possessing the one shall imply you've 

the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce 
with a Muse, 

Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, sir, ne'er 
deign to peruse : 

Will you leave your justings, your jars, 
and your ipiarrels. 

Contending with IJilly for proud-nod- 
ding laurels ? 

My niuch-honour'd patron, believe your 
poor poet, 

Vour courage much more than your 
jjrudence you show it ; 

In vain with Squire Billy for laurels 
you struggle. 

He'll h:ive them by fair trade, if not, 
he will smuggle ; 

tiDt cabinets even of kings would con- 
ceal 'em. 

He'd up the back-stairs, and by God 
hi: would steal 'em. 

Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er 
can achieve em. 

It is not, outdo him, the task is out- 
tliieve hi:n. 



THE CALF.' 

TO THE KF.V. MK. JAMKS STEVEN, ON 
HIS TEXT, .MAI.ACHI, CH. IV. VEK. 2. 

"And they shall go forth, and grow up, 

like CALVES of the stall." 
Right, Sir! your text 11 1 prove it true, 

Tho' Heretics may laugh : 
For instance ; there's yoursel just now, 

God knows, an unco Calf! 
And should some Patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, sir, but then we'll find 

Yere still as great a Stirk.^ 
But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

shall ever be your lot, 
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, 

You e'er should be a Slot ! ^ 
Tho', when some kind, connubial Deaij 

Your But-and-ben-* adorns, 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 
And, in your lug, most reverend James- 

To hear you roar and rowte.S 
Few men o' sense will doubt yout- 
claims 

To rank amang the Xowte.6 
And when ye're munber'd wi'thedead^ 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head— 

" Here lies a famous Bullock !" 



STANZAS TO CLARINDAJ 

Ci-AKiNDA, mistress of my soul,^ 
The measured time is run I 

' The Poem was nearly an extempor- 
aneous protluction on a w.iger that I 
would not produce a poem on the sub- 
ject in a given time. — R. B, 

^ lUillock of a year t)ld. 3 An ox. 

* Kitchen and parlour. S liellow. 

6 P.lack cattle. 

7 Written about 1788. C'.arinda was 
the wife of Mr. M'Leliose, from whom 
she had been separated, but she appears 
to have had an ardent affection for 
Burns. Her maiden name was Agnca 
Craig. 

^ I'hese stanzas appeared in the SC" 
cond volume of the Musical Muteum, 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



The wrcN-h beneath the dreary pole 

So marks his latest sun. 
To w hat dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Syivander hie ? 
Deprived of thee, his life and light, 

'I'he SUM of all his joy ! 
We part — i)iit, by these precious drops 

Thai fill jliy lovely eyes ! 
No otiier light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beaMi> arise. 
She, the fair sun of all her sex, 

Kas blest my glorious day ; 
And shall a gluiunering planet fix 

My worship to its ray i 



TO CLARIXDA. 

WITH A PKICSKXT 1>K A I'AIU OF DRINK- 
INi; <,I,.\SSKS. 

Fair empress of the poet's soul. 

And ijuecn of iioetesses ; 
Clarinda, take this little boon, 

'i"his humble pair of glasses. 
And fill them high with generous juice, 

As generous as your mind ; 
And jileilge me in the generous toast — 

" 'I'he whole of humankind I" 
*'To those who love us 1 " — second fill ; 

}]ut ni>i to those wliom we love ; 
Lest Nvc love those who lo\c not us ! 

A third— " lo thee and me, love !" 
Long may we live I long may we love ! 

And long may we be happy ! 
And may we never want a glass 

Well charged with generous nappy ! 



ADDRESS lO IHE DEIL.' 

Oh Prince I Oh Chief of many throned 

pow'rs, 
That led ih' embattled Seraphim to 

war — Milton. 

O THOt; : whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Honne, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 



* It was, I think, in the winter, as 
we were going together with carts for 
coal lo the family fire and I could yet 
^int out the particular s|)Oij, that the 



Wha in yon cavern grim an' sortie. 

Closed under h«i.ches, 
Spairges ' about the bruiistane coolie,' 

To scaud poor uielcbes. 
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee., 
An" let poor damned I odies be , 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

Ev'n to a deil, 
To skelp 5 an' scaud poor dogs like me. 

An' hear us sqnecl ! 
Great is thy powV, an' great thy fame ; ' 
Far kend an noted is ihy name ; 
An', iho' yon lowin hengh's5 thy hame, 

'1 hou travels far ; 
An', faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame. 

Nor blate nor scaur.6 
VVhyles, ranging like a roarin lion, 
For prey a holes an' corners tryin ; 
Wliylcs on the strong-wing d tempest 
fiyin, 

Tirlin" the kirks ; 
Whyles in the human bosom pryin. 

Unseen thou lurks. 
Eve heard my reverend Grannie say, 
Jn lanely glens ye like lo stray ; 
Or where auld ruin d castles, gray. 
Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, 
Wi' eldritch croon. S 



author first repeated to me the "Ad- 
dress to the Deil." The curious idea 
of such an address was suggested to 
him by running over in his min.l the 
many ludicrou> accounts and repre.-ent- 
ations we have from various qi.rtrters 
of this august personage. — G. H. 

' Dashest. - Wciodcn dish. -^ Strike. 
'' 'i'he third stanza was originally 
Lang syne in Eden's happy scene, 
When slra]>piu' Adam's days were 

green. 
And Eve was like my boimie Je.in, 
My dearest part, 
A dancin', sweet, young, liandEoir.a 
quean 

Wi' guileless heart. 

5 Flaming pit. 

6 N either bashful nor apt to be s<-aretl 
"i L iic'veriiig. 

S Frightful mc&a. 



_j 



POEMS. 



&S 



^ne. twilight did my Grat'.nie sum- 
mon, 
To say her :)ray'rs, douce, honest wo- 
man ! 
Aft you the dyke she's heard you 
buniiilin/ 

WI" eerie drone ; 
Or, nisllin, thro' ihe Ijodrtries'- comin, 
Wr lieavy grocui. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 

I'he stars shoi down \vi' sklentin-^ hght, 

VVi' you, niyse!, I yat a fright, 

Ayant the l*)ugh ; 
Ve, hke a rash-bu^h,-' stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sugh. 

The cudgel in my nieveS did shake, 
fclach bristl d hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch stoor,^ qnaick, 
qnaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squattord,' like a drake. 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks ° grim, an' wither'd hags, 
Tcil iicw wi' you on ragweed "^ nags, 
liiey skill! the inuirs, an' diz/y crags, 

Wi" wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owrc howkit "^ dead. 

riicnce, coimtra wives, wi' toil an' pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn^' in 

vain ; 
For, Oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

IJy witching skill ; 
An' dawtit,'' twal-pint'^ Hawkie's 
gaea 

As yell's*-* the bill. 'S 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse, 
On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an' 
crouse :'6 



' Himuning. 

^ The slirub elder, common in the 
h ;dges of ham-yards. 

3 Slanting. •» \ bush of rushe-s. 

5 Fist. 6 Hoarse. 7 Fluttered. 

8 Wizards. 9 Ragwort. 

'° Dig-cd up. "_Churn. _ 

'- Fondled. '3 Twelve-pint. 

^^ Barren. '3 Bull. '6 Courageous. 



When the best wark-hime* i' tha 
house, 

By cantraip- wit, 

Is instant made no worth a , 

fust St the bit. 
\Vhen thowes^ dissolve the snawy 

hoord,^ 
An' rioal the jinglin' icy-boord, 
Then Water-kelpie.«. hauiu the foord, 
By your direction, 
At,' nighted Trav'llers are allurcl 

lo their destruction. 
An' aft yr<ur moss-traversing Spunkie^^ 
Deco\- iht wight tliat lad- an' drunk is; 
The bleezin, curst, mischie\inis nionkie* 

I )euidc his eyes. 
Till in some miry slm-gh he sunk is, 
Neer mair to rise. 
When Masons' mystic word an' grip, 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun slop, 

Or, >trauge to tell ! 
The youngest Brother v<- wad whip 

Aff siraught to hell. 
Lang syne, in Eden's bounie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair't^ 
An' rfll the soul of love they shar'd, 

'1 he rapturd hour. 
Sweet on the fr.agrant. tlow'ry swairdi 

In shady bow'r: 
Then yon, yeaidd, snec-drawing6 dog\ 
Ve came to I'aradise incog, 
An'T)lay'd on man a cursed brogue,' 
(lilack be you fa !) 
An' gied the infant warlil a shog,8 
'^Liist ruin'd a'. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a hhz^ 
Wi' reekit duds,'" an' reestit gi/z,'* 
Ve did present your sinuniie phiz 

'.Maiig 1 letter folk, 
An' sklented ^'^ on the man of Uzz 

Your spiiefu' joke ? 
An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house .an' hal', 

' Working tool. ^ Magical. 

3 Thaws. ■♦ Hoard. 

5 Will-o'-whisp. 6 I'rick-contriving. 
7 Trick. « Shock. 5> Bustle. 

*° Smoky clothes. " Stunted periwifj 
" Piayed. 



U^ORKS OF BURNS. 



Wlile scabs an' I loiches did him gall, 

VVi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd* his jll-ti>iigu"d, wicked 
Scawl,* 

Wast warst ava ? 3 
But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Voiir wily snaie> an' fechtin-* tierce, 
Sir.' that day Michael 5 clid yon pierce, 

Down to^his time. 
Wad ding<> a' Lallan tongne, or Erse, 
In prose or rhyme. 
An' now, anld Clouts, I ken ye're 

thinkin, 
A certain iJanlie's rantin, drinkin. 
Some luckless lioni will send him linkin^ 

I'o your black pit ; 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin,*^ 

An' cheat yi>u yet. 
But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
O wad ye tak a thought an" men' ! 
Ye aibliiis' might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

ilvn for your sake ! 



THE POET'S REPLY TO A 

GENTLEMAN WHO HAD .SENT 

HIM A NEWSPAPER. '° 

KlNfisir, I've read your p.iper through, 

Anil, faith, to nic, 'twas really new ! 

How gncNs'd yc, sir, what nuiist I 
wanted ? 

This niony a day I've gran'd and 
gnnnied 

To ken what French mischief was 
brewin*, 

Or what llie dnmilie Dutch were doin'; 

That vile tloup-skelper, Emperor Jo- 
seph, 

If Venn> yet had got his nose off; 

tit how the colliesiiangie works 

» lx>oscd. « Scold. 3 Of all. 

< righting. 

5 Vide .Milton, Kook vi.— R. B. 
* Worst. 7 Tripping. 

"Dodging. y Perhaps. 

■*' Written at Ellisland, in 1790, in the 
land year of his age. 



Atween the Russians ard tHe Turlcs 1 
Or if the Swede, b«fore he halt, 
Woidd playaniiher Charles the Twalti* 
If Denmark, anyboJy spak o't ; 
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't; 
How cut throat Prussian blades wera 

hingin'; 
How iiblnrt Italy was singin'; 
If Spaniards, Portuguese, or Swiss 
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 
Or how our merry lads at hame, 
In l^.ritain s comt, kept up the game; 
How royal Cieorge, the Lord leuk o ei 

him ! 
Was managing St Stephen's quoi um ; 
If sleekit Chatham Wi I was livin'. 
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 
How Daddie liurke the plea was cook- 
in'; 
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin'; 
How cesses, stents, and fees W2re rax'd. 
Or if baie a — s yet were tax'd ; 
'J he news o' princes, dukes, and earls. 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and open 

girls; 
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, 
Was threshin' still at hiz/ies" tails; 
C)r if he was grown ouglulins douse^ 
And no a perlect kir.tra cooser. 
A' this and mair I never heard of; 
And but for you I might despair'd of. 
Sogratefu', back yournew> 1 send yoiL 
And pray, a' guid things may attenJ 
you ! 



THE FIRST KISS OF AFFEC 
TION. 

Humid seal of soft affections, 
'lenderesl pledge of future bliss, 

Dearot tie i>f young connections, 
Love's fust snuw-drop, virgin kiss I 

Speaking silence, ilumb confession. 
Passion's birth and infant play. 

Dove-like fondness, chaste conccssioiv 
Glowing dawn of brighter day. 

Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action. 
When Img'ring lips no more mull 
join. 

What words c?n ever speak affectioo 
So tliriiliitg And sincere as tiiiiK 1 



POEMS. 



THE DEATH AND DYIN6 
!\''ORDS()F POOR MAI LIE,' THE 
AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. 

AN UNCO MOUKNFU' TALE. 

As Mailie an' her lambs thegither 
Were ae day niljliliiig on the tether, 
Upon her cloot" she coost ^ a hitch, ^ 
An' owre she warsl'd 5 in the ditch : 
There groaning, dying, she did He, 
When Hughoc6 he cam doytin by. 
Wi* glowriii een, an' hfted ban's. 
Poor Hiighoc like a statue stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended. 
But, waes my heart ! he could na 

mend it. 
He gaped wide, but naething spak. 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear. 
An' bear them to my Master clear. 

" i'ell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 

* The circumstances of the poor sheep 
were pretty much as he has described 
them ; he had, partly by way of frolic, 
bought a ewe and two lambs from a 
neighbour, and she was tethered in a 
field adjoining the house at Lochlie. He 
and I were going out with our teams, 
and our two younger brothers to drive 
for us, at mid-day ; when Hugh Wi!son, 
a curious-looking, awkward boy, clad in 
plaiding, came to us, with nuich anxiety 
m his face, with the information that the 
ewe had entangled herself in the tether 
and was lying in the ditch. Robert was 
much tickled with Huoc's appearance 
and postures oji the occasifm. Poor 
Mailie was set to rights, and when we 
returned from the plough in the evening 
he repeated to me her " Death and 
Dying Words," pretty much in the way 
ihey now stand. — G. B. 

' Hoof. 3 Cast. 4 Loop. 

5 Wrestled. 

6 A neibor hcrd-callan. — R. B. 



But ca' thtra y.it to park or hill. 
An' let them wander at tl.eir will r 
So may his fl j.;ks increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' I* 

'• Tell him, he was a .Master kin'. 
An' ay was guid to me an' niine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him, 

" O, bid him save their harmk ss lives, 
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill. 
Till they be fit to fend" themsel : 
An" tent them duly, een an' morn, 
Wi' teats 3 o" hay, an' ripps"* o' corn. 

"An' may they never learn the gaetsS 
Of ither vile, wanrestfu'^ pets I 
To slink thro' slaps, ^ an' reave ^ au' 

steal. 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great Forbe.ars,' 
For monie a year come thro' the shears: 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread, 
An' bairns greet '° for them when they're 
dead. 

"My poor toop-Iamb," my son an' 
heir, 
O, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
An' if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some bavins''^ in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name ; 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
An' not to rin an' wear his cloots, 
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 

"An' niest my yowie,"* silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop ; 
BlU aj' keep mind to nioop 4 an' mell,^' 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

" And now, my bairns, wi' my lail 
breath, 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you bailh : 
An' when you think upo' your Milher, 
Mind to be kind to ane anither. 

" Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, 



* Wool. ^ Live comfortably, 

3 Small quantities. * Handfuls. 

5 Ways. 6 Restless. 

' Gates, or breaks in fences. 

8 Rove. 9 Forefathers. '° W«ein 

" Ram. '" Good manners. 

^3 Ewe. *4 Nibble. 'S Meddl* 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



To tell my Muster a' my tale ; 
An' bid hint burn this cursed tether, 
Au', for thy pains, ihuu'sc get my 
blather." ' 
This said, poor Mailieturn'd her head, 
Au' clir 'd her cen ainang the dead ! 



POOR MAI LIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lanient in prose, 
Wi' saut tears inckhnj; dmvn your nose ; 
Our Bardies fate i?< at a clc>>,e, 

Past a' re mead ; 
The last, sad cape-stane" of hi^ woes : 

Poor Mailies dead ! 
It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
That could sae bitter tlraw the tear. 
Or mak our iJardie, dowie,^ ucar 

J he mourning weed : 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 

In Mailie dead. 
Thro' a' the toun she trotted by liim ; 
A lang ha.f-mile >he could descry him ; 
Wi' kmdly bleat, when she did spy iiim, 

She ran wi' speed : 
Afriend mairfaithfu iieer cam nigh him 

'J han .^Lail^e dead. 
I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 
An' could behave hersel \\\ mense ; 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence. 

Thro" thievi.sh greed. 
Our Bardie, lanely, keeps ihe Spence** 

Sin' Alailie's dead. 
Or, if he wanders up the howe,^ 
Her living image, in her yowe. 
Comes bleating to him owre the know'e,^ 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny jjearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 
She was nae get o' moorland tips,3 
Wi' lawted*' ket, an" hairy hips : 
For her forbears were brought in ships, 

Frae ycjnt the i'weed : 
A bomiierlleesh ne'er cross'd the clips ^ 

Than Mailie dead. 

' Piladder. * Copestone. 
S Worn with grief. * Parlour, 

S Dell. 6 Hillock. 7 Rams. 

I MaUed wool. ^ Sheers. 



Wae worth the man Avha first did sliapj 
That vile, wanchancie ' thing — a rape 1 
It maksguid fellows girn- an' gape, 

Wi chdkin dread; 
An' Robin's bonnet wa\e wi' crape. 

For Mailie dead. 
O, a' ye Bards <-;i bonn.e I )i)on ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters • tune 
Come, join the nlelanchollol.^ croon^ 

()' Robin's reed 1 
His heart will never get alx-on 

His Mailie dead I 



TO JAMES SMITH. 5 

Friendship I mysterious cement .f the 
soul I 

Sweel'ner of Life, and solder ol So- 
ciety ! 

I owe thee much. — Dluir. 

Dhak Smith, the sleest, paukie^ ihuf, 
'J'hat e'er attempted stealth or rief. 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef ^ 

Owre human hearts; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief ** 

Against your arts. 
For me, I swear by sun and moon. 
And evry star that blinkN aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

J u>t gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair ta'eii I'm wi' yoil. 
That auld, capricious carlin,'^ Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit " stature, 
She's turn'd yea aff, a human creature 

On hei first plan, 
And in her freaks, on-evry feature. 

She's wrote, "'I'he Man." 
Just now I've taeii the fit o' rhyn.e, 
My barmie noddles working prime, 
My faacie yerkit '* up sublime 

Wi' hasty .summon : 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what's c( niin? 

* Unlucky. ^ ( Jrin. 

S Pails of bagpi'jes. ■* Moaxs 

5 Smith kept a shop in Mauchjine. 

6 Cunning. ' Wizard spell. ^ Proof 
9 Old woman. ^" Sf;anty. " lushed 



POEMS. 



5 one rhyme a necbor's name to lash : 
SomK rhyme (valr. thought I; for needfu' 

cash : 
Some rhyme to court the contra clash, 

All' raise a din : 
For mc, an aim I never fash ;* 
1 rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 
Kas fated me the russet coat, 
An' d — d my fortune to the groat; 

liut, in rc(|uit, 
Has blest me wi' a random shot 

()■ counira wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent. 
To try my fate in guid, lilack prent ; 
But still the mair I'm tliat way l)ent, 

.Something cries, " HooHc I' 
1 red^ you, honest man, tak tent ! 
Veil shaw your folly. 

" There's ither poets, much your bet- 
ters, 
Far seen in (Ireek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thiiught they had ensur'd their 
debtors, 

A' future ages ; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, 
'I'lieir unknown pages." 

Then fareweel hopes f>" laurel-boughs. 
To garland my pontic brows ! 
Hencefortl) I'll ro\e where busy 
phjughs 

Are whistling thrang. 
An' teach the lanely heights an" howcs 

My rustic sang. 

ri' wander on, ui" tentless-* heed 
HoTT iiever-b;«!ting moments .-.peed. 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread; 

'I'hen, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with tli' inglorious dead, 

I-'ovgot and gone ! 

But why o" Death begin a tale ? 

{usl now we're I viiig. soinul an' hale ; 
'hen top and in lintoji crowd she sail. 
Heave Care o'er side I 
A^nd large, before Ku!o\inent"s gale, 
Lets tak the tiKlc. 



This life, s.ae far's I understand,* 

Is a' eni;hanted fairj-land, 

Where pleasure i> the magic wand. 

That, wielded right. 
Makshouro like minutes, hand in han'l 

l)ani:e by fu' light. 

The magic-wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that tive-an" forty's speel'd,' 
See, cra/y, weary, joyless Kild, 

Wi" wriirxlM fice. 
Comes hostin, ' liir]>'iii-* owre the field, 

Wi' creepin pace. 

When ance life's ilay draws near the 

gloainin. 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ; 
An' fareweel chearfii' tank.irtis foainin, 

An' ^oci:ll noise ; 
An" fareweel dear ilelu ling woman. 

The joy of joys 1 

O Tafc I how pleasant in thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning. 

We frisk away. 
Like schoolboys, at th' expected 
warning. 

To joy and play. 

We wander there, vv- wander here. 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful thai the thorn is ne.ar. 

Among the leaves; 
And tho' the puny wo-nul appear. 

Short while it grieves. 
Some, lucky, find a llow'ry s]»ot. 
For which they never toild nor swat; 
They drink the >weet and eat the fat, 

I hit care or pain ; 
And, haply, eve the barren hut 

With high disdain. 



' Care f.)r. 
* I wair. you- 



* Gently. 
4 Heedless. 



' In your epistle to J. S., the stanzas, 
from that liej;inning with this line. 
" 'J'his life," .^c. to that which eii.K with, 
" Short wiiile it trrievo.'' are easy, 
flowin:, gaily philosophical, an.l of 
Horatian elegance. The laagu igc is 
Knglish, with .a few Scottish uords, 
and some of iho-o -.o b-rmoniou^ as U 
.add K. the beauty : for what poet would 
not prefer i;/i'tii///)/ci<> tii.>ilig;lit f — Dr. 
iNIooKK. June lo, \-?>:). 

''Climbed. -^ Cuughiajf. •'Limpiig 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



} With steady aim, some Fortune ch-ise 
I Keen Hope does ev'ry sinew bract ; 
I Thro' fair, thro" foul, they urge tlie race, 
j And seize the prey : 

Then cannie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 
And others, like your humble servan', 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads ob- 

ser\in' ; 
To right or left, eternal swervin', 

'i'hey zig-zag on ; 
Till curst \vi».h age, obscure an' starvin', 

'I'hey aflen groan. 
Alas ! what bitter toil an' stiaining — 
Butlnice wC peevish, poor complain- 
ing ! 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 

Een let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining 

Let'h sing our sang. 
My pen I liere fling to the door, 
And kneel, " Ve Pow'rs !" and warn. 

nnplore, 
**Tho' 1 should wander Terra o'er, 

111 all her climes, 
Grant me but this, 1 ask no more. 

Ay rowih ' o' rhymes. 
*' Gic dreeping* roasts to countra 

Lairds, 
Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claes to tine Life-guards 

And Maidsj of Himour ; 
And yill3 and whisky gie to Cairds 4 

Until they sconner.5 
"A Title, Dempster^ merits it ; 
A Garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 
Gie Wealth to some be-ledger'd Cit, 

III cent per cent ; 
But gie me real, sterling Wit, 

And I'm content. 
"While Ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Ue"t watet-brose, or muslin-kail,' 

Wi' cheerfu" face. 



* Plenty. "Dropping. 3 Ale. 

* Tinkers. 5 Loathe. 

6 An active Member of Parliament, 
who died in iSi8. 

"i Hroih made of water, shelled barley, 
and greens. 



As lang's the Mus-js dinna fail 
'I'o say the grace. ' 

An anxious e'e I never throws 

Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 

I joi'k' beneath Misfortune's bloi>-s 
As weel's I mav ; 

Sworn ''oe to Sorrow, Care,anr'. Prose, 
I rhyme away. 

ye diuce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, ti ^eless-blooded, calm and .\k.\ 
Compar'd wi' you— O fool I fool ! fcK 1 1 

Kiw much unlike ! 
Yoar hearts are just a >tanding p-.ol, 

Yv>ur lives, a dyke ! 
N.ae hair-brain"d sentimental traces 
In your uiiletter'd, nameless faces ' 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
but gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 
Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're vi;* 
Nae ferly - tho' ye do despise 
The hairum-scairum, rain-stam^ boy.. 

The rattling squad: 

1 see you upward cast your eyes — 

Ye ken the road. — 
Whilst I— but 1 shall baud me there— 
\\ '' you r.l scarce gang ony where — 
7'ht'i, Jamie, I shall say nae mair. 

Hut cjuat^ my sang, 
Cofei * v'ith You to mak .a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



THE PCET'S DREAM. S 

Gi;iD-MOKNiN to ynur Majesty ! 
May heaven auginen* your blis.ses, 

' .Stoop. 

* An expression of C'nt'^mpt. 

3 Thoughtless. •♦Quit. 

5 Written in 17C6, in t'^-e •jStii yea.* 
of his age. At this p<.rio-l ;he Rev 
Thomas Wartor filled the o'fice of 
Poet Laureate. P>urns -nfcrm-- u'. thai 
on reading in the public pap.^rs the 
Laureate's " (3de," with tl.e othe- pa- 
rade of June 4, 1786, he droot asif^ep. 
and then imagined himself tiaii-sportsd 



POEMS. 



f>n ^v't'S new birth-day ye see, 

A niimble Poet wishes ! 
My Hardship here, nt your Levee, 

On SIC a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth siglit to see, 
Aniang thae Birth-day dresses 
Sae fine this day. 
I see y^'Ve complimented thrang. 

By many a lord an' ! idy ; 
" God save the King I " 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay ; 
The Poets, too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar' you trow ye ne'er do wrang, 
But ay unerring steady. 

On sic a day. 
For me ! before a Monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I vviuna flatter ; 
For neith".r pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on V'our Grace, 

Your Kingship to bespatter ; 
There's monie waur been o' the Race, 
And aiblins" ane been better 

Than You this day. 
1 'Tis very true, my sovereign King, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
j But Facts are cheels^ that winna ding,'* 
' An' dcnvnaS be disputed : 

Your Royal nest, beneath Your wing. 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 6 
And now the third part of the string, 
An' less, will gang about it 

Tiian did ae day. 
Far be't frae me that F aspire 

To blame your legislation, 
\)r say, ye wisd>>m want, or fire. 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But faith I I mucicle doubt, my Sire, 
Ye've tru>ted .Muiisira;ion 
j To chaps, v.ha, in a barn or byre,7 

Wad better filled their station 
I 'I'han courts yon day. 



to the Birth-day I.evee ; and in his 
dreaming fancy, made the following 
Adukkss. ' Make. 

^ Perhaps. 3 Young fellows. 

^ Will uot lie beat.;n. S Cannot. 

<> Torn and pitched ; the allusion is 
to vhe separation of America. 

' Co-v stable. 



And now yeVe gien auld Britam peace. 

Her broken shins to plaister ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

'till she has scarce a tester • 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain wearing faster. 
Or, faith I I fear, that wi' the gee.se, 

I shortly boost ' to pasture 

1' the craft ^ some day. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,' 

A name not t-ivy spairges,^"* 
That he intends to pav your del t. 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 
But, God's sake I iet nae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonnie barges 

An' boats this day. 

Adieu, my Liege I may freedom geckS 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may Ye rax^ (jorruption's neck, 

And gie her for dis.section ! 
But since Lm here, 1 11 no neglect. 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

ftly fealty an' sid>jection 

Th.s gieat Birth-day. 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please Ye, 
Will Ye accept a compliment 

A simple Poet gies Ve ? 
Ihae bonny bairntime, Heav'n has lent. 

Still higher may they heeze^ Ye 
In bliss, till Fate some day is seat, 

For ever to release Ye 

Frae care that day. 

For you, young Potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling 
sails, 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may^^naw your naiU 

An' curse your folly sairly. 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 

Or /attl'd dice wi' Chariit:*^ 

By iiijj'iu or day. 



' Must needs. 
3 Child. 
5 Exidt. 
7 Raise. 



= Field. 
4 llemires 
6 St itch. 
8 lir FoK 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Vet af; a :>gged cowte's' been known 

To r.i'oV T nobh aiver;- 
Sae, \c ni.nj doiicely fill a Throne, 

For a' ilioii clish-nia-clavcr : ' 
There, Hini-» al Ajiinconrt wha shone, 

Few better were or bniver ; 
And yet, wi" funny, queer Sir John, 5 

He was an unco shaver<» 

For njonie a day. 
For yo.i, riglii rev'rend <)snaburg,7 

Nane sets the lawn->Ieeves sweeter, 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug 

Wad been a ilress completer : 
As ye disown von paughiv"^ dog 

'J'hat bears the Keys ol'l'der. 
Then, swith I' an" get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth 1 yell stain the Mitre 
Some luckless day. 
Yoting, royal Tarry lireeks."' I learn, 

Y'e've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious galley," stem and stern, 

Wecl ri.iig d for \emis* harter ; 
But first hang out, that she 11 discern 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard \our grapple airn,'" 

An", large upon her «|uarter. 

Come full that day. 
Ve, l.tstly, bonnie blossoms a'. 

Ye royal Lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid .as wecl .as braw. 

An' gie you l.ad> a plenty : 
But sneer na liritish boys'awa', 

For Kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German (lentles are but sma'. 

They're better just than want ay 
On nnie day. 
God bless you .a' ! consider now 

Ye' re unco nnickle dauiet ; '^ 
But, ere the coiuse o" life be through. 

It may be bitter sautct : 

* Colt. = Cart-horse. 3 Idle talk. 

4 King Henry V.-R. I!. 

5 Sir John Falstaff: r'/</c Shakspeare. 
.-R. r.. o\Vag. 

' Osnaburg gave the title of liishop 
tc the second son of Ceorge III. 

J' i'roud. 9(;i.t;,way. 

*" The Royal " Hreeks' was the 
Diike of' Clarence. 

" Alluding to the newspaper account 
of a certain Roya' sailor's amour. — R. b. 

" If oji. ^3 Caressed. 



An' I hae seen their coggie ' fou 
'ihat yet h.ae t.arrowt" at it ; 

But or the day was (hme, I trow. 
The laggen ^ the\ hae clautet * 

¥\\ clean that day. 



LINES TO A PAINTER, 

WHOM lUJKNS KOINI) AT WdKK ON A 

pic'i L'KK OK Jacob's dkka.m. . 

Drar , ril gie ye some advice. 

You'll tak it no luicivil ; 
You shouklna" paint ;it ans'.'ls muir,S 

But try anJ paint the devil. 
To paint an angel's kittle wark,6 

_ Wi' auid Nick there's less danger. 
You'll easy draw a wecl-kent face. 
But no sae wee! a»stranger. 



VERSES ON A WAG IN 
MAUCHLINE.7 

Lament him, Mauchline husbands a'l 

He often ilid assist ye ; 
For had ye staid whole years awa'. 

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd y« 
Ye Mauchline bairns,*^ as on ye j>a.«* 

lo school in bands thegither, 
Oh tread ye lightly on his grass — 

Perhaps he was your father. 



THE VISION. 

ni AN riKST.9 

The sun had closed the winter day, 

ihe Curlers'" quat their ro;i;in play, 

And hunger'd M.aukin ' ' taen her x'/ay 

lo kail-yards green, 



' Little wooden dish. ^ Miirnuuet*. 

^ 1 lie angle between the side and 
bottom of the dish. ^ Scraped. 

5 .More. 6 Ticklish work. 

7 James .Smith. ^ Children. 

5 Duan, a term of Ossian's for the 
different divisions of a digressive poem 
.See his •' Catli-I.o.la," vol. ii. o| 
M'Plierson's translation. — R. 15. 

'" Players at a game ."^n the ice, called 
curling. " Hare. 



POEMS. 



33 



•V*rfle fjlthles.3 snaws ilk step betray 
Where she has been. 

jTLc threshers weary fli:igin-tree 
riit; lee-l.ing day had tired nie : 
And when the day had clos'd his c'e, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben r the Spence, ' rijjht pensivelie, 

1 gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek. 
That lill'd, wi' hoasi-pro,voking smeek, 

'1 he auld, clay ijiggin ;^ 
An' heard the restless rattons^ squeak 

About the riggin. 

.\11 in this mottie, misty clime, 
1 backward iiuis'd on wasted time, 
llow I luid spent my youtlifu" prime, 

An' done naething. 
But stringin blethers i:p in rhyme. 

For fools to sing. 

Had T to guid advice but hark it, 
I might, by this, hae led a market 
Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit 

-Mv cash -account : 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half- 
sarkif* 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead ! coof !5 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,^ 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some ra.>h aith. 
That T, henceforth, would be rhyme- 
proof 

Till my last breath — 

When, click ! the string the snick' did 

draw ; 
Ai.d, jee ! the door gaed to the wa"; 
And by my ingle-lowe^ I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hiz/ie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whist ;5 
The infant aith, half-form'd, wascrusht; 



* The parlour. " House. 

3 Rats. •» Half-provided with shirts. 
S Ninny. 

* 'J hickened or stained palm. 7 Latch. 

* Hearth-llanic. 9 Silence. 



I glowr'd as eerie's I'n betn dushl 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, .;h»' 
blusht, 

.And stepped ben.- 
Green, slender, leaf-clad hoily-boi.ghi 
Were twisted, graccfu", round her brow i, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

l>y thai same token ; 
And come to stop those reckless vnv\ \ 

Would soon been broken. 
A "hair-brain'd. sentimeiual trace,' 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

J'eam'd keen with Hono'jr. 
Down flow'd her robe, a tart.ui sheen; 
Till half a leg was scriniply' seen; 
And such a leg .' my bonnie Jean 

Could only peer it : 
.Sae straught, sae taper, light, and cle.">n, 

Nane el.se came near it. 
Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 
My .gazing wonder chielly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold-miugli?-.^, 
threw 

A lu.sire grand : 
And seem'd, to my asionish'd view, 

A we.l-kiiown land. 
Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the si^ies were tost: 
Here, tumbling billows niark'd the 
coast. 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art s lofty boast, 

'ihe lordly dome. 

Hera, Doon pour'd downhi.sfar-fecch'd 

flootls ; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds ;■» 
Auld hermit Avrstaw5 thro his woods, 

(_)n'lo the shore : 
And many a lesser torrent scud.s, 

With seeming roar. 
Low, in a sandy va ley spread. 
An ancient Horough reard her head; 
Still, as in Scottish story rea'.. 

She boasts a rac* , 



Struck down. 
I 3 Partly. 4 Sounds. 



" Iniv.'ird. 
5 Did steaL 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



To ev y R)blei virtue bred, 

And polish'd gr^ce. 

iy statrly tow'r or palace fair, 

Or ruins pcndoiu in the air, 

Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seeni'd to muse, seme seem'd to 
dare. 

With features stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 

'J'o see a Race ' heroic wheel, 

And bra-idish roind the decp-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows : 
While back-r<.coiling seem'd to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His Cot:NTKv's .Saviol'k,- mark him 

well • 
Bold Kichardton's^ heroic swell ; 
The Chief on Sark ■♦ who glorious fell, 

lu high conunand ; 
Aud he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade S 
Stalk'd round his ashes Itiwly laid, 
1 mark'd a martial Race, portray'd 

III colours strong ; 
Bold, soldicr-featurd, undismay'd 

They strode along. 



* The Wallaces.— R. P.. 

» William Wallace.— R. B. 

3 Adam Wallace, of Richarton, cousin 
of the immortal preserver of Scottish 
independence. — R. I». 

'• Wallace, 1 ,aird of Craigie, who was 
second in cunmuind, under Douglas 
Earl of Ormonil, at the famous battle 
on the Ijaiiksof .Sark, fought anno 1448. 
Th.at glorious victory was principally 
owing to the judicious cimducl and in- 
trepid valour of the gallant Laird of 
Craigie, who died of liis wounds after 
the action. — R. P>. 

5 Coilus, King of the Picts, from 
whom the district of Kyle is- <\\<\ to take 
its name, lies buried, as tradition says, 
near the family-seat of the Montgo- 
merios of Coilsl'ijld, where his buria".- 
^acc is stiil shown. — R. 13. 



Thro' many a wild, romantic gro»» ," 
Near many a hermit fancy'd cove, 
(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Lovft 

In musing mood,) 
An aged Judge, 1 saw him rove, 

iDispensing good. 
With deep-struck reverential awe 
I'he learned .Sire and Son I .=aw,^ 
To Nature's Clod and Nature's law 

They gave their loie. 
This, all its source and end to draw . 

That, to adore. 
Brydone's brave Ward 3 1 well co.,id 

Pieneath old .Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing bf, 

To hand him on. 
Where many a Patric* name on high. 

And Hero shone. 

DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavnly-seemin.^ Fair ; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear. 

Of kindred sweti. 
When with an elder .Sister's air 

She did me greet. 
"All hail I my own inspired Ba. a! 
In me thy native Mu.se regard ! 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low I 
1 come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 
" Know, the great Genius of this Lua 
Has many a light, arrial band, 
Who, all beneath his high commana, 

Harmoniously, 
As Arts or Arms they understand, 

'I'heir labours ply. 
" Ihey Scotia's Race among thew 

share : 
Some fire the Soldier on to dart : 
Some rouse the P.itriot up to b.are 

Corruption's heart : 
Some teach the Bard, a darling care. 

The Linef'il art. 

' Barskimm'iig the v;at of fhe lati 
Lord Justice Cl'_.k ';?.iil'-rj.— R. B. 

- Catriuf . t' . <\At of tni late JJoc'i* 
and pr'^f .<■ \ rofesocr Stcwar' — -^ ^ 

3Colr.< Fullart'm.--K. 1^ 



/\ EMS, 



'Mong sw-lliig Hoods of seeking 

They, ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or, 'mid the venal Senate's roar. 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest Putriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 
*' And when tiie 15ard, or hoary Sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age. 
They bind the wild. Poetic rage 

In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive pi'.gc 

Full on the eyt. 
" Hence, Fullarton, the b-ase and 

young ; 
Hence, Dempster's zeal-ins,nred 

tongue ; 
Hence, sweet harmonious Beatf^sung 

His ' Minstrel lays,' 
Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

The Sceptic's bays. 
" To lower orders are assign'd 
The huinbier ranks of human-kind. 
The rustic Bard, the lab' ring Hind, 

The Artisan : 
All chuse, as various they're inclin'd, 

'J he various man. 
*' V hen yellow waves the heavy grain, 
Thf threat'ning storm some, strongly, 

tcin ; 
Some l-ach to meliorate the plain 

With tillage-skill : 
And some instruct the .Shepherd-train, 

lilyihe u'er the hill. 
" Some hint the Lover's harmless wile ; 
Soi.Jt gra.;e the .Maiden's artless smile ; 
Som-; s'Kithe the Lniyiers weary toil. 

For hiunble gains, 
And make his i.nttage-scenes beguile 

His cares and jjains. 

" S< ma, bounded to a district-space, 
Explore at lar^c Man's infant race. 
To mark the embryotic tr.ice 

Of rustic Hard ; 
A\v\ careful note each op ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 

" Of th<;se am I — Coila my name ; 
AjiI tills di:«nct as mine I claim, 
W'KTt; once the Campbells, chiefs of 
fanjc. 

Held ruling pow'r: 



I mark'd thy embiyo-tnneful fla.iie, 

'J'hy natal hour. 
" With future hope, F oft would gaze, 
Fond, on thy little early ways, 
Thy rudely-caroll'd, chmiing phrase. 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 

Of other times. 
" I saw thee seek :he sounding shore, 
Delighted svith the dashing roar; 
Or when the North his tleecy stcre 

Drove thro' the sky, 
I saw grim Natine's visage hoar 

Strf-k thy young eye. 
" Or when the deep green-mantl'd 

Earth 
Warm-cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth. 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry gro\e, 
I saw thee eye the gen ral mirth 

With b(nmdless love. 

" When ripen'd fields, and azure skIeS| 
Call d forth the Reapers rustling noise« 
I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

And lonely stalk. 
To vent thy bosoms swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 
" When youthful Love, warm-bhishing 

strong. 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th" adored .\'aine, 
r taught thee how to pour in song. 

To sootho thy tlame. 
" I saw thy pulse's maddening play. 
Wild send thee Pleasure s devious way, 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, 

Hy Passi.Mi driven ; 
But yet the light that led u>tray 

Was light frcm Heaven. 
"I taught thy manners painting strain.*., 
The lo\es, the ways of simple swains, 
I'ill now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends ; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

Become thy friends. 
" Thoii canst not learn, nor can I yho^V, 
To paint with 1 homsop's la'idst>p» 

glow ; 
Or wake the bc-om-mer'ng ih»-ue, 

^Vitr Sh.-nsicP-i's aut ' 
O 8 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



Oi p&iir, with Cray, the inoviiiL; lluw 
W'aiiii iin ihc lieait. 

" V»t, all bcncatli ih' iimivaU'd rose, 

Tht lowly Ua'i.sy Nwcclly IjIows ; 

'Iho' largo llic Ijiots iiumaicli throws 

His aiiay shade, 
Vet i^reeii the jiucy l)avvtht)iii grows, 

^Vilowii ilie glade. 

" Then ne\er iimriiuii nor rejiine ; 
Strive Ml ili> liiiniLiie sphere u> shine ; 
And tni>l nie. not I'oloM s muie, 

Nor l\ini;s re.naril. 
Can give a hlis.s o'erniau:hnig ihine, 

A ri.slic liard, 

*' To give my counsels all in one, — 
Thy tunetiil llaiiie >iill carelul Ian; 
Preserve the di.i;:.ity ut Man, 

VViih >.oul erect ; 
And trnst, the I luvcrNal J'lan 

\\ ill all protect, 

** And wear thou thi>" — she solemn 

said, 
Ar.d bound the Holly round niv head : 
The pohshd leaves, .,iid hemes red, 

|)id nistlni!; i>la\' : 
Aiid, like a jtasMiig lh«lu.^ht, she lied 

In ligiu away. 



LINES WRI ITEN IN FRIARS- 
CAKSM llKRMllAGt:.' 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Ik thou clad in russet weeil, 
lie thou deekt in sikeii stole, 
Gri'^'c thes.^ CiUniseU on thy soul : — 

Life is hut a day at most. 
Sprung Irnm iiiiilu, in darkness lost; 
Hope not Miushuie cNcry hour. 
Fear not cloud> will .dways lour. 



The beautiful residence of Captain 
Riddell, nc.ir Mlisland, who was a kind 
friend of the poet. I hese lines, w hi^h 
appeared in 178S, were nn amended 
versitjii uf uiic written in i7S\. 



As Youth and I.ove, with >pri^tillj 

dance, 
Ikneath thy morning-star advaacc, 
I'leasure, with her sircii air. 
May deliale the tlioui,hlless pa.r ; 
Let I'rutleiice bless I'.ujox ment s Olip^ 
1 hen raptured siii, ;.ikI sip it i;p. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Lite's meridian llanung iii^ii, 
J>ost thou >piirn the humble vale? 
J. lie's pioi.d sumnnts wouldol tLcu 

scale t 
Check ihv climbing step, elate, 
Kvils lurk ill lelo.i wa;: : 
i)angcis, ea.ule pinion d, bolu, 
Soai^arouiid each clilly hold. 
While chcerlul I'cace, w itli Imnet song, 
C h.iiu> the lowly dclK aii'ong. 

As the shades of evening close, 
lleckoiung thee to Ion- repose ; 
A> lile ilsell becomes disease, 
Seek the chuime\ iieuk ot ease, 
llieie runim.ile with sober thought 
On all thou si .seen, and heard, and 

wrought : 
And leach the sportive younkers rcvuid. 
Saws ol e.speiieiice .sage and sound: 
Say, mans true, gemuiie esiimare, 
'I he granil crileri.iu «)f his laic, 
Is not-. Art thou high or low? 
Did thy U»rtune ebb or How? 
Wasi thou cottager or king/ 
I'eer or peasant :- no si.uh thing ! 
Did many talents gild thy span y 
Ur Irugai Nature grudge thee one ' 
'I'ell them, ami pre.ss it on llieir miu I, 
As thou ill) self must shortlv lind, 
J he smile ur Iroxxn ol awlul Heaven 
To \ irtue ur to \ ice is give)! 
Sa>', " Jo be just, ami kind, and wise, 
'I here solid Sell eiijoymeul lies ; 
That loolish, .selfish, faithless ways 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and bji&e." 
Thus re.sign'il aiitl tpiiet, creep 
'io the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Slee|), wlieiiie thou shall ne'er .iwake, 
Kighi, where dawn shall never break. 
Till future life — lutuic no mure — 
'i o light and joy the good reiitore, 
'1 o light and joy •iinknowii b;:!o:': ! 

Stranger, go ! Heaven he thy guidcl 
Quoth the beadsman of Niiluudu. 



POEMS. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, 
OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a rule. 

And lump them aye thegither ; 
The Ri(;ii) Rk.htkois is a fool, 

i'he Riiiii) WisK anither: 
f he tlean'.st corn that e er was dight 

May liae scjiiie pyles o' caft' in ; 
So ne er a fellow-creature slight 

For random fits o daffin. 

Holomon. — Eccles. vil. i6. 

O VE wha are sac guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sac holy, 
Ye've nought to do Init mark and tell 

Y(jur Neehour's fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supplyd wi store </ wr.ter, 
The heajjet happer s ebbing still, 

And stdl ihj clap plays clatter. 
Hear me, ye venerable Core,' 

As counsel for poor mortals. 
That freipient pass douce Wisdom's 
door, 

For glaikit- Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoujp^htfess, careLss sakes, 

Would here j ropone defences. 
Their donsie ■> tricks, their black mis- 
lakes, 

Their failings and mischances. 
Ye iCi your state wi" theirs compar'd 

And shjdder at the nifler,-* 
But cas* a niuincnt s fair regard, 

Whai maks the mighty diifer? 
Discount wliat scant occasion gave 

Ihat purity ye pride in, 
And what's aft niair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hidin". 
Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop. 
What raging must his veins convulse, 

'I'hat still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wiinl and tide tair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way : 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco leeway. 
See Social life and Glee sit down. 

All joyous ar.d unthmking, 



' Corps. 
' Unlucky. 



Careless.^ 
4 Exchange. 



Ti' , quite transmii2ii''.''i they're 
grown 

Debauchery and Drinking: 
O would they stay to cal'uiate 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded hell to stai% 

Damnation of expanses ' 
Ye high, exalted, virtuous !).-5mos, 

iy d up in godly laces. 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names, 

.Suppose a change o' cases . 
A dear lov'd lad, con\eiiience snug 

A treacherous inclination — 
But let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins'-' nae temptation. 
Then gently scan your brother Man, 

Still gentler sister Wr)inan ; 
I'ho' thej- may gang ."i kennie ^ wiangi 

'Jo step aside is huir.an : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

'Ihe moving Why they d" it ; 
And just as lamely can )e mark 

How far perha])s they rue it. 
Who made the heart, tis He alonC' 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows eacii chord — its various ton^ 

Each spring — its various bias : 
1'hen at the balance lets be mute. 

We never can adjust it : 
What's done wc partly may compute^ 

But know not what's iw^isted. 



TAM SAMSON'S EIXG\.'« 

An honest man's the n<jblest work 
of (jod. — Pope. 

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil? 
Or great M'KiulayS thrawn his hoel? 

' Transformed. '" May be. 

3 Small matter. 

4 When this worthy old sportsman 
went out last muir-fowl season, he su]>« 
posed it was to be, in Ossians phrase, 
"the last of his fields;" and e\presse</ 
an ardent wish to die and Ije buried ■•• 
the nuiirs. On this hint the author com- 
posed his Elegy and Epitaph. — R. b. 

5 A certain preacher, a great favouritO 



W'OKA'S OF BirKXS. 



Or Robinson* njr-^in RTOwn wed, 

lo preach an" reail ? 
*• Na, waur than a" :" cries ilka chid, 

" l"an» Samsung ilcail !" 
Kihnarnivk lanj; may jjrnnt an* j;ranc. 
An' sisjh. an' s.il», .m' j;rv t her lane," 
An' ciccd ' her Uiirn>, nu»n, wile, an' 
wean, 

In monrning weed : 
To Death she's ilearly |Kud the kane,-* 

I'ani San»sun'> dead I 
The Brethren o' the mystic Icvd 
May hing their head in woetu' l)evd. 
While by their nose the t«-ai-s will revel, 

Like ony head ; 
Death's gien the l.i>dy;v an unco dcvd. 

Tain N»in>on's deail 1 
When Winter nuirtles uy hi> cloak, 
And binds the snire like a txHk ; 
When to the lo^l>;h^ the «.iirleiN IUkU 

Wi glecMdne si>ecd, 
Wha will they .Ntatiou at the cvvk ? 

lam Samson's dead 1 
He was the king o' a' the t.ore, 
To giiarvl. IK ilra\> , i»r wick a boK, 
Or up the rink like Jchn roar 

in tune o' need ; 
But now he l;ig>on Heath s hog-sa>re,S 

l.un >vunson'> dead I 
Now s;ife the stately Sa\vmonl<> s;»il. 
And IniutN Uxlroppd wi crimson hail, 
And Kels wed ken d tor M>uple tail, 

And I'.eds l\)r grc-ed. 
Since dark in I>vaih'> tish creel we wail 

lam Samson's dead I 

Rejoice, ye birrin>; I'aitricks" a': 
Ye c»K.)tie MooixKcks. cronsdy cr>*.v :8 
Ye Maukiiis,"^ cvx-k your tud '^' lu' braw, 
Withouteu drvad ; 



«*ith the inilllun. — Vide TheOnlinatio'i, 
Stan/a ii. — K. M. 

' Anmher preacher, an etjual favour- 
ite with the tew, who was at that time 
Riling. Kiir him, see also 1 he (.)uluia- 
li-'U, stanza i\. — K. V: 

- lier>eli alo.ie. -* Clothe. * Rent. 

5 A ilistance lino in curling, drawn 
■cros.s the n»{\ «> Salmon. 

^ Partntlg;s. * Cheerfully crow. 



»Ua 



•:jil. 



Your mortal Fae '» now awa , — 

lam S,»nisv.ns tlead ! 
That woefu' n>orn be ever niournd 
Saw him in shootm giaiih' avlom'd. 
While pointers round im|>.uicni InunT, 

Fr.u- couples lix-ed ; 
U.U,Och! he gaeil anil ne er rvlurn'c' I 

t am Samson s ilead ! 
In \-ain auld age liis Innly kilters ; 
In vain the gout his ancles letters ; 
In v;»in the burns cam' (,U>\\ n like waters 

An acre Uraul ! 
Now ev'ry auld wile, gieetin. clatters. 

■' lam .Samsonsilead !'' 
Owre mony a weary hag he hmpil, 
.An' aye live tither slu>i he thumpit. 
Till cowanl lieath bJiind hun jurapit 

W. de.idly ft-ide:' 
Now he pnvlaims, w r tout o' trumiKl, 

I .un S.imson s lie.ul I 
When ai his heart he leit the dagger. 
He leeld his wontctl i>oi tie swagger, 
liut yet he ilix-w the mortal trigger 

Wj wed aim d heed ; 
" l.oixl, five I" he cry d, an' owiv did 
st.igger • 

lam S.uuson's deail ! 
Ilk hutry himter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk siv)rtsmau youth bemoan'il a ta'hcr; 
Von auld grav staiie. aman^ the heather, 

Marks oiil'tus head. 
Whare lUirns has wiote, in rhymiig 
blether, 

Tain .Samson's dead ! 
There, low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps ii^K'n his iiuuild ring brea^U 
Some spitelu' muirlowl bigs her nest; 

I'o hatch and breed : 
Alas ! nae m;ir hell ihein iiudest ! 

la::; Samson s dead ! 

When Aiii;ust winds the heather warr 
.Ami sportsmen wander by yon gr.ivc, 
Three volleys let his mem'ry crive 

O' jiouther an" lead, 
Till Fcho answ er Ir.ic her cave, 

I am Samsv>n s dead ! 

He.iv'n rest his s;uil. whare'er he l>ct 
!:> th* wisli u' inuuy iiiae than inc : 



' Dress 



Fe-Mi. 



POEMS. 



H<* '•ad t'va fau'ts, or mayT)e three, 
\'cl what rcmead ? 

A^ nocial, honest n.an want wc : 

'lain Samson's dead ! 

THK Kl ITAI'H. 

Tam Sa m;-,on's weel-worn clay here hes, 
•* * caiitin.!^ /e.ilots, spare hitn I 

Jf honc-Nt worth in hjavcn rise, 
\ ell mend or yc win near him. 

I'KK CON TKA.' 

Go Fame, and canter like a filly 
J'hro' a' the hire-*ts an' neiiks o' Killie,^ 
Tell cv'ry social, honest hillic 

To cease his ijrievin, 
For yet, imskaith d by JJeath's gleg 
gull->.3 

'lam Samson's livin ! 



THE 'iki:K OF i.ii5i:rty.'» 

Heako ye o' the tree o' France, 

I watna what s the name f»'t ; 
Aroiir.d it a' the patriots dance, 

Weel Kiirope kens the fame o't. 
It st.iii'ls where ance the liastile stood, 

A prison hiiilt by kin;is, man. 
When Sii()erstition'> helli>h brood 

Kept FVancc in leading-strings, man. 
UlJ<m this tree there grows sic fruit. 

Its virtues a' ctn tell, man ; 
It rai^e^ iri^n aljoon the brute. 

It maks him ken himsel, man. 
Gif .nice the pL:u:iiit taste a bit, 

He ■^ gre Iter than a lord, man, 
And wi' thj bcgg ir shares a mite 

Of a" he can aKord, man. 



' J'he " Per (J(»ntra" was a peace- 
offering to the old sportsman, angry at 
his poeli'.al dissoliitioii. Hums retired 
to tlie window in lams apartment for 
a few min'iti; ., :iiul returned with this 
ilan/a on his lips. 

- Killie is a phrase the country-folks 
liontetimes use for ilij name of a certain 
lOAU in the west IKilmarnockjv — K. H. 

- .Sharp kjiife. 

^ Written in 1794, and first printed 
in Chambers's c blioii of IJurns' works, 
ta i8i8. 



This fniit is worth a' Afric's wealth,. 

To comfort us twax i^:\\\., man : 
To gie the sweetest blush </ health, 

And mak us a' content, man. 
It clears the een, it cheer-s the hearty 

.Maks high and low guid friends, man ; 
And he wh.i act.-, the traitor s part 

It to perdition sends, man. 
Mv blessings aye attend the chiel 

Wha pitied Oallia's slaves, man, 
And staw ' a branch, spite o the dill, 

Frac yrint tire western waves, m-ia. 
Fair Virtue water'd it wi' care. 

And now >he sees wi iiride, man, 
How weel it buds and blossoms thert., 

Its branclK;> spreading wide, man. 
I5ut vicious fofk ave hate to see 

The works <)" Virtue thrive, man ; 
The courtl)' vermin s t>arnrd the tree, 

.And gnvt'-' to see it thrive, iikmi ; 
King Louis thought to cut it down 

When it was iiiico sma", man : 
F'or this the waichmaii crack'd his 
crown, 

Cut afif his head and a', man. 

A wicked crew syne,' on a lime, 

Did tak a solemn aith, man, 
It necr should flourish to its prime, 

1 wat they pledged their faith, man:; 
Awa' they gaed, wi' m<x.k fj:irade. 

Like beagles hunting game, man, 
iJut soon grew weary ci" the trade, 

And wishd they'd been at hame, mailt 

For Freedom, stan<ling by the tree, 

Her sons did loudly ca", man ; 
She sang a sang o' I. fieri y, 

W^hich pleased them ane and a', man. 
By her inspired, the new-burn race 

.Soon drew the avenging steel, man ) 
The hirelings ran — her foes gicd chasa, 

And bangd the despot weel, man, 

\jit Britain boast her hardy oak. 

Her poplar and her pine, man, 
Auld Britain ance coul<J crack her joke 

Aiifl o'er her neighbfiurs sliine, man 
I>ut seek the forest n.und :md round. 

And soon 'twill be .agreed, man, 
That sic a tree catmni be found 

"I'wixt London and the Tweed, man. 



Stole. 



Wept. 



5 Then. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



VVithoat this tree, alake, this life 

Is but ^ vale o" woe, man ; 
A scene »•' .«.urro\v inix'd wi' strife, 

Nac real joys we know, man. 
We labour soon, we labour late. 

To feed the titled knave, man ; 
And a' the conifori we re to get 

Is that ayoni the grave, man. 
Wi' plenty o" sic trees, I trow, 

The warld woulii live in peace, man ; 
The .sword would help to mak a plough, 

I'he din <>' w.ir wal cea.sc, mm. 
Like brethren in a common cau-se, 

We'll i>u eaih niher smile, man; 
And equal rights and equal laws 

Wad gladden every isle, man. 
Wae worth the U)on w'la wadna eat 

Sic halcMime dainty cheer, man ; 
I'd gie my shuon iVae art" my feet. 

To ta>te .sic fruit, I swear, man. 
Syne lei us pray, auUI Kugland may 

Sure plant this far-famed tree, man ; 
And blithe we II sing, and hail the day 

That gives us hberty, man. 



H.\I.I.OWKEN.' 

The following Poem will, by many 
readers, be well enough understood ; 
but for llie sake nf those w ho are un- 
acqu.iirued with the manners and tra- 
ditions of the country w here the scene 
is cast, notes are ailded. to give soiuo 
account of the principal charms and 
si)ells of that night, so big with pro- 
phecy to the peasantry in the we;-t of 
Scotland. The passion of prx'ing into 
futurity makes :i striking part of the 
history of human nature, in its rude 
State, in all ages and nations ; and '.i 
may lie some entertainment to a phi- 
losophic miiul, if an> such should hon- 



* Halloween is thought to be a night 
when witches, ile\ils. and other mis- 
chief-making beings are ail abroad on 
their baneful, midnight errands ; par- 
ticularly those ai-rial people, the fairies, 
are said on that night to hold a grand 
Anniversary. — K. li. 



our the Author with a perusal, ttj so* 
the remains of it, anion}' the more un« 
enlightened in our own. — R. H. 

V'es ! let the rich uerii. c, the proud 

disdain, 
The simple pleasures of tie lowly tniin; 
lo me more dear, congenial in my 

heart. 
One native charm, than all the j;;! <3 

of art. — CoUisinith. 

Ui'ON that tiight, when Fairies li;.^ht 

On Cassilis l)ownaiis' dance. 
Or owre the lays," in splendid blaze. 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or (or L'llean the route is ta'en, 

lleiK-aih the moon's p«le beams ; 
There, up the Cove ' to stray an' rove, 

.*\m ing the rocks and streams 

Jo spoit that night. 

Amang the bonnie, w inding banks. 

Where Doon niis, w.m,.lin,-* clear, 
Where i>rucc5 ance ii.l'd the martial 
ranks. 
An* s'look his Carrick sj ear. 
Son c men y, friendly, contra folks. 

Together did ct>uvene, 
To bu n their nits," an' \>o\\ theil 
stocks," 
An' baud their Hal'owcen 

Fu' blythe that night. 

The las.ses feat,!^ an' cleanly neat, 
Mair braw than when they're fine ; 

Their faces bl> the, fu' sweetly kythe,9 
Hearts leal, an' w.inn, an kin : 



' Certain little, romantic, rocky, 
green hills, in the neighbourhooil ol 
the ancient seat of the Earls of Cas- 
silis.— K. 15. ' Field-s. 

3 .A noted cavern near Colean-house, 
called the Cove of Colean : whiclk as 
well as Cassilis Dow nans, is fame* in 
country story for being a favourite 
haunt of fairies.— R. H. 

■* Meandering. 

5 i he famous family of that name, 
the ancestors of Robert, the great de- 
liverer of his country, were Earls o^ 
Carrick. — R. \\. 

<> Nuts. 7 Flints of kail. 

8 Spruce. '^ Shewu. 



POEMS. 



/"he lads sae trig,* wi' woo^r-babs,' 

Wed knotted on their garten, 
Some unco Ijlaie, an' some wi" gabs, 
\ Gar lasses" l.<>arts gang startin 

Wliyl-os fast at night. 

rhen. first, an' foremost, thro" the kail, 
Their stocks 3 maim a' be sought 
ance : 
Tiiey steck their een an' grape-* an' 
walc.S 
For nuickle anes, an' straught anes. 
Poor havrol& Will fell aff the drill, 
An' wandeid thro' the bow-kail, ' 
An' p<nv't,8 for want o' better shift, 
A runt? was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't '° that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird'' or 
nane, 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ;'- 
The vera wee things, toddhn, rin, 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther; 
A i' gif the custocs '^ sweet or sour, 

Wi' joclelegs '•* they taste them ; 

* Smart. 
^ Charters knotted with loops. 

* The first ceremony of Halloween 
'.s, pulling each a stock, or plant of 
kail. 'J'hey must gfiout, hand in hand, 
«^'th eyes shut, and pull the first they 
flreet with. Its being big or little, 
straight or crooked, is prophetic of the 
size and shape of the grand object of 
all their spells — the liushand or wife. 
If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, 
that is tochf r, or fortune ; and the 
tasle of the custoc, that is, the heart 
of the stem, is indicative of the natural 
teiiipcr ano disposition. Lastly, the 
stems, or, ti. give them their ordinary 
uppellation, the rimts, are placed some- 
•Afhcre above the head of tiie door ; and 
the Christian names of the peopli^ whom 
chanci brings into the house, are, ac- 
;<^>rding to the priority of placing the 
units, the names in question. — R. B. 



"G 



rope. 



5 Cht 



f' Half-witted. 



7 Cabb.age. 8 Pulled. 

' A caljOagc stem. '° Crooked. 
" Ear^h. '- In confusion. 

' Hearts of stems. '•* Knives. 



Syne coziely, ' aboon the door, 
Wi' cannie care, they'vL- jilacd them 
To lie that night. 

The lasses staw^ frae' mang them a* 

'Jo pou their stalks o' corn ;3 
But Rab slips out, an" jinks'* about, 

Behint the muckle tliorn : 
He grippet Nelly ^ard an" fast ; 

Loud skirled a' the lasses ; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 

When kiutlinS m the fause-house* 
Wi" him that night. 

The aidd guidwife's weel-hoordct' 
nits 8 

Are round an' round divided. 
An' monie lads' and lasses" fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie,' side by side, 

An" burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa, wi' saucv pride, 

An' jump out-owre the chimlie 
Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie'° e'e ; 
Wha 'twas, she wadna tell ; 



' Snugly. - Steal. 

3 1 hey go to the barn-yard, and pull 
each, at three several times, a stalk of 
oats. If the third stalk wants the top- 
pickle, that is, the grain at the top of 
the stalk, the party in question will 
come to the marriage-bed anything but 
a maid. — R. B. 

■* Dodges. S Cuddling. 

6 When the corn is in a doubtful 
stale, by being loo green, or wet, the 
stack-builder, by means of old timber, 
S:c., makes a large apartment in his 
slack, with an opening in the side which 
is fairest exposed to the wind : this he 
calls a fause-house. — R. B. 

'' Well-hoarded. 

8 Burning the nuts is a famous charm. 
They name the lad and the lass to 
each particular nut, as they lay them 
in the fire ; and accordingly as they bum 
quietly together, or start from besi le 
one another, the course and issu<; o/ 
the courtship will be. — R. B. 

9 Loving. *" Cautiousi 



XVORKS OF BURNS. 



But th<s is Jo :lc, and this is me, 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him. 

As they wad never mair part ; 
Till, fuff ; he started up the luni,' 

An' Jean had e'en a sair iieart 
I'o see't thai night. 

Poor Willie, \vi' his bow-kail nint. 

Was brunt \vi" prinisie^ Mallie, 
An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt,^ 

To be compared to Willie : 
Malls nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling. 

An' her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, an' swoor* by jing, 

'T was just the way he wanted 
To be that night. 
Nell had the fause-house in her min',5 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving i>leeze thoy sweetly join, 

Till white in .ise'' they're sobbin : 
Nell's heart was dancin at the view ; 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk fort : 
Rob, stownhns,' pried ** her bonniemou, 

f u' cozic in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 
Put Merran sat bchint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Hell ; 
She lea'cs^ them gashin at their cracks. 

An' slips out by hersel : 
She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 

An' to the kiln she goes then, 
An' darklins grajjit for the banks, '° 

And in the blue-clue" throws then, 
Right fcar't that night. 



* The chinmev. ' Demure. 

3 Pet. "'Swore. 5 Mind. 

6 Ashes. ' By stealth. 

8 'J'asted. ^ Leaves. 

*° Cross-beams. 

" Whoever would with success try 
iViis spell, must strictly observe these 
directions : — Steal out, all alone, to the 
kiln, and, darkl.ng, throw into the pot 
a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a new 
clue off the old one ; and, towards the 
lattor ei.d, something wdl hold the 
thre 111 ; demand, Wha hands 'i i. e. 
fc'ho holds? an an>wer will be returned 
from the kiln-|)iit, by naming the 
Christian and surname of your future 
|poU:iC. — K. li. 



An' aye she win't, an' ay she swat. 

1 wat she made nac jatikin : ' 
Till something held within the pat, 

Ciiiid Lord ! but she was quaukiti:* 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel 

(Jr whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andresv Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier 3 that night. 

Wee Jennie to her Grannie says, 

" Will ye go wi' me, (iraunie? 
ni eat the apple-* at the glass, 

1 gat frae uncle Johnie : " 
She fuff 't 3 her pipe wi' sic a lunt,* 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 
She notic't na, an aizle^ brunt 

Her braw new worset^ apron 
Out thro' that night. 
"Ye little skelpie^-limmer's face ! 

I daur you try sic sportin. 
As seek the foul Thief onie place. 

For him to spae '" your fortune ; 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For nionie a ane has gotten fright, 

An' liv d an" di d dcleerit," 
On sic a night. 

".■\e Hairst'- afore the Sherra-moor, '^ 

I n\ind t as weels yestreen, 
I was a gilpey '-' then, Ini sure 

1 was na past fyfteen : 
The simmer had been cauld au' wai. 

An' stuff was unco green ; 
An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 



* Dallying. -Quaking. •'Inquire. 

** Take a candle, and go alone to a 
looking-glass : eat an apple liefore it, 
and some traditions say, you should 
comb your hair all the time ; the fare 
of yoin- conjugal companion, to be, vill 
be seen in the glass, as if peeping over 
your shoulder. — R. B. 

5 Did blow. 6 Column of smoke. 

"i Hot cinder. ^ Worsted. 

9 A word of scolding. '" Pn)phesy. 

" Delirous. '^ Harvest. 

'^ Sheriff-moor, the battle fought in 
the Rebellion, 1715. 

'•♦ A romping girt 



POEMS. 



L 



"Our slibb'.e-rig* was Rab M'Graen, 

A clocr, sturdy lalluw ; 
His sin gal Kppie Sim wi' wean, 

That liv'd in Auchinacalla ; 
He gat hemp-seed,- I mind it weel, 

An" he made unco light ot ; 
But morne a day \\*>< by hiinsel, 

He was sae sairly frighted 
That vera night." 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ; 

For it was a' but nonsense : 
The auld guidman raught down the 
pock, 

hn out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk. 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him. 
An' try t that night. 

He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

'i'ho" he was something sturtin '.^ 
The graip'* he for a iiarrow taks. 

An" haurlsS at his curpin :^ 
An" evry now an" then, he says, 

" Hemp-seed, f saw thee, 
An' her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, an' 'Iraw thee 
As fast this night." 

He wliistl'd up Ford Fenox' march, 
1"() keep his courage cheary ; 

Altho" iiis hair began to arch, 
He was sae fley'd' an' eerie : 

' Head reaper. 

^ Steal out unperceived, and sow a 
handful of hemp-seed ; harrowing it 
with any thing you can conveniently 
draw after you. Repeat now and then, 
" Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I 
saw thee ; and him ;or her that is to be 
my true-love, cume after me and p<ni 
thee." Fook over your left shoidder, 
and you will see the appearance of the 
person invoked, in the attitude of pull- 
ing hemp. .Some traditions say, " Come 
after me, and shaw thee," that is, show 
thyself: in which case it simply appears. 
Others omit the harrftwing, and say, 
" Come after me, and harrow thee." — 
R. B. 

^ Frightened. * Stable fork. 

5 Drags. 6 Cruppr « 7 Scared. 



Till presently he hears a squeak. 
An' then a grane an" gruntle , 

He, by his shouther gae a keck,* 
An" tuinbld wi" a wintie" 

Oul-owre that night. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

hi dreadfu' desperation ! 
An" young an' auld came rinnin out, 

An' hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin ^ Jean ^FCraw 

Orcrouchie-* Merran Humphie, 
Till Slop I she trotted thro' them a': 

An' wha was it but Cirumphie 
Asteer5 thai night ! 

Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen 

To winn three wechts o' naething; 
But for to meet the Deil her lane, 

.She put but litiie faith in : 
She gics the herd a pickle nits. 

And twa red-cheekit apples, 
J'o watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see lam Kipples 
'Fhat vera night. 

She turns the key, wi' camn'e thraw. 
An' owre the threshold ventures : 

F'ut first on Sawnie gies a ca'. 
Syne bauldiy in she enters ; 

A ration' rattl'd up the wa'. 

An' she cry'd, Ford preser\'e her ! 



' A peep. - Stagger. ^ Halting. 

'' Crook-backed. 5 .Abroad. 

^ This charm must likewise be per- 
tormed unperceived, and alone. You 
go to the barn, and open both doors, 
taking them off the hinges, if possible ; 
for there is danger, that the being, 
about to appear, may shut the doors, 
and do you some mischief. Then take 
that instrument used in winnowing the 
corn, which, in our country dialect, we 
call a wecht ; and go through all the 
attitudes of letting down corn against 
the wind. Repeat it three times ; and 
the third time an .apparition will pass 
through the barn, in at the windy door, 
and out at the other, having both the 
figure in cpieuion, and the appearance 
or retinue, m. irking the emp/oynient oi 
station in life.— R. B. 

7 Rat. 



44 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



An' i"an thro' midden-hole ' an' a'. 
All' pny'd wi zeal arv fervour, 
Fu" fast that night. 

They hoy't* out Will, wi' sair ad^nce ; 

They hechi ^ him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc d llic slack he faddoni t •♦ thriceS 

Was tinnner^-propt from thrawm : 
He taks a swirlie,' auld moss-oak, 

For some black grousomc (.'arlm ; 
An' loot a winze, S an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in l>lypes9 cam iiaurlin 

Aff's nieves ''^ that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As cantie " as a kitilen ; 
But, Och I that night, amang the 
shaws,'' 
She got a fearfu" settlin ! 
She thro' the wins, an" Ijy the cairn. 

An" owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare throe lairds' lands met at a 
bum,'' 
To dip her left sark-slceve in. 

Was bent that night. 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 
As thro" the glen it whimpl't : 

Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 
Whyles in a wiel '•♦ it dimpl't ; 

* Gutter at the bottom of a dung-hill. 

* Urged. ' Foretold. •» Fathomed. 

5 Take an opportunity of going, un- 
noticed, to a bean-stack, and fathom it 
three times round. The last fathom of 
the last time you will catch in your 
arms the appearance of your future 
conjugal yoke-fellow. — R. 13. 

6 Timber. 'Knotty. ^ Oath. 
9 Shreds. '" Fists. " Merry. 
^l Woods. 

*3 You go out, one or more, (for this is 
a social spell, to a south running spring 
or rivulet, where " three lairds' lands 
meet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. 
Go to bed in sight of a fire and hang 
your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie 
awake ; and some time near midnight, 
an apparition, having the exact figure 
of the grand object in question, will 
come and turn the sleeve, as if i J dry 
\he other side of it.— R. V>. 

^* Small whirlpool, or edd« 



Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit underneath the brae% 

Helow the spreading hazei. 

Unseen that night. 
Amang the brachens," on the Ijrac, 

Hetween her an' the moon. 
The Deii, tfr else an outler Quey, 

Gal i.p an" gae a croon : •' 
Poor Lecziu- s heart niaist lap the hool ;* 

Near lav rock-heiglu .■>hs jmiipit. 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the Iug.i5 .she pliuiipit, 

Wi" a plunge that night. 
In order, on th;; clean hearlh-stane, 

'] he luggies^ three' are ranged ; 
Ami e\ "r\ time great care i> ta en, 

1 o Nee them duly changed : 
Auld Uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin" Mar s-year did desire. 
Because he gat the toom ^' di>h thrice, 

He heaved them on the fire 

In wratii that night. 
Wi" merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary : 
And unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

J heir sports were cheap an" cheary , 
Till butter dSo'ns,^ wi' fragrant lunl,'' 

Set a' their gabs ' ' a stcerin ; '■ 



' .\ppeared and vanished. 

" Fern. ^ .A deep moan. 

'' Leaped out of the case. 5 Ears. 

6 Small wooden dishes with handles, 

7 Take three dishes : j)nt clean water 
in one, foul water in another, leave the 
third empty : blindfold a person, and 
lead him to the hearth where the dishes 
are ranged ; he (or she dips the left 
hand : if by chance in the clean water, 
the future husband or w ife \\ ill come to 
the bar of matrimony, a maid : if in the 
foul, a widow : if in the empty dish, it 
fi)retells, with ei|ual certainly, no mar- 
riage at all. It is repe:ited three times ; 
and every time the arrangeme-u of the 
dishes is altered. —R. I!. ^ Empty. 

9 Sowens, with butter instead of milk 
to them, is always the Halloween Sup 
per. — R. r>. 6"t>a/i'«.y is a kind of oat 
meal pudding. ''' Smoke. 

" Mouths. " A-stirraig. 



r 



POEMS. 



iS 



8/ne, wT a sock! glass c stnint,^ 
They parted aiVca'-eeri'i- 

Fu' blythe that night. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS.3 

A CANTATA. 

RECITATIVO. 

When lyarf* leaves bestrew the yird, 
Or, wavering like the baiickieS bird, 

Bediiii caiild lioreas' blast : 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skytc, 
And infant fronts begin to bite. 

In hoary cranrench^ drest ; 

' Spirituous liquor of any kind. 

* Cheerfully. 

3 Sir Walter Scott was unable to con- 
ceive any good reason why Dr. Currie 
did not introduce this Cantata into his 
collection. For humorous description 
and nice discrimination of character, 
he thought it inferior to no poem of the 
same length in the whole range of Eng- 
lish verse ; and the mirth of the songs, 
combined with the vividness of the pic- 
tures, he considered to be unequalled. 
This is very exaggerated praise ; and 
few readers, 1 should suppose, will ad- 
mit the truth of Scott s remark, that 
" even in describing the movements of 
such :i group, the native taste of the 
poet has never suffered his pen to slide 
into anything coarse or disgustirg." 
See Scott's " Prose Works," ,\vii. 244. 
.Mr. Lockhart is yet more profuse of 
admir.ation, and doubt> if Shakspeare, 
out of such materials, could have con- 
structed a piece, " m which the sympa- 
thy-awakening power could have been 
displayed more triumphantly." And 
Allan Cunningham outstrips his prede- 
cessors, by affirmin<j that " nothing in 
the languige, in life and character, 
approaches this song." 'Ihe " lieggar's 
Opira" Ijjing a "'burial, compared to 
it." Surely this is the burlesque of cri- 
ticism, and only brings U into contempt. 

* Discoloured. 5 Uat. 
6 Hoar-frost. 



Ae night, at e'en, a merry core 

<)' randie, gangrel ' bodies. 
In Po'isifi-Nansie's held the splcre,' 
To drink their orra iluddies : 
Wi' qual'fmg and laughing, 

I'hey ranted anil they sang; 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle > rang. 

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brae d wi' mealy hags, 

And knapsack a' in order; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae and blankets w.arm ? 

She blinket on her sodger ; 
An' aye he gies the tozie-* drab 

The tither skelpin5 kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab,* 
Just like an aumous dish ; ' 
Ilk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadger's whup. 
Then staggering, and swaggering. 
He roar'd this ditty up — 



TLNE— " SOLUIKR'S JOY." 

I AM a son of Mars, w!io have been in 

mruiy wars. 
And show my cuts and scars ivherever 

I come : 
This here was for a wench, and that 

other in a trench. 
When welcoming the French at the 

sound of the drum. 

Lai de dandle, &c. 

My 'prenticeship F past where my lead- 
er breath d his last, 

When the bloody die was cast on the 
heights of .-Miram .^ 

1 serv'd out my trade when the gallant 
game was play'd. 

And the .Moro'» luw wa* laid at the 
sound of the drum. 

Lai de dandle, &c. 

'Vagrant. " Frolic. 

•^ 'I'he iron plate for baking cakes. 
;} J'ipsy. 5 .Slapping. ^ Mouth 
^ The beggar's alms-di^h. 
»> Quebec, where Wul.fe fell. 
9 A Spimish castle taken by the Er.g 
lish army, in 1762. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



I lastly w;u with Curtis, among the 

floalinj; oatt'rics, 
Ant there I left for witnesses an arm 

and a liinl) : 
Yet let my country need me, with 

Elliot to head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps al the sound 

of the dnun. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

And now, though I must beg, with a 
wooden arm and leg, 

A'.'d many a tatter'd rag hanging over 
my bum, 

I'm as happy with my wallet, my bot- 
tle, and my callet. 

As when 1 iis'd in scarlet to follow the 
drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must 
stand the winter shocks, 

Beneath the woods and rocks, often- 
times for a home ; 

When the toiher bag 1 sell, and the 
tolher bottle tell, 

I could meet a troop of h — at the sound 
of the drum. 

RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars * shcuk 

Aboon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rations'"' backward leuk. 

And seek the beninost ^ bore : 

A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, 

He skirled out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck. 

And laid the loud uproar. 



TUXE — "SOI.DIEK t-ADDIE. 

I ONCF was a maid, tho' I cannot tell 

when, 
^nd still my delight is in proper yoimg 

men : 
8omc one of a troop of dragoons was 

my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 
•Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 



Rafters. ^ Rats. . 3 Innermost. 



The first of my loves was a swaggering 

bl.ade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his 

tride ; 
His leg vas so tight, an» his cheek 

was so ruddy. 
Transported 1 was with my sodgef 

laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

But the goodly old cliaplain left him ir. 

the lurch. 
So the sword I forsook for the sake of 

the church ; 
He ventured the soul, and I risked the 

body, 
'Twas then I proved false to my sodger 

laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of the sanctified 

sot, 
The regiment at large for a husb.and I 

got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I 

was ready, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c 

Rut the peace it reduced me to beg io 

despair, 
Till I met my old boy at Ciuuiingham 

fair ; 
His rags regimental they flullercd so 

gaudy, 
My heart it rej"'- 'j at my sodger 

laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

And .jw 1 have hv"d — I know not how 

long. 
And still I can join in a cup or a song 
but whilst with both hands 1 can hold 

the glass steady. 
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodgei 

laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &o. 



RECITATIVO. 

Poor Merry Andrew, in the neuk, 
Sat gu/zling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 

They mind t na wha the chorus lock. 
Between themselves they were iai 
biz/y ; 



POEMS. 



At iingth, wi' drink ani courting dizzy, 
Ho stoitered ' up an' made a face ; 

Vhen turn'd, an' laid a smack on Clrizzy, 
Syne tiin'd liis pipes wi' grave gri 
mace. 



TVNE— " Ai;Lli SIR SIMON." 

Sir AVisdom's a fool when he's fou, 

Sir Kn.ive is a fool in a session ; 
He's there but a (jreniice I trow, 

But 1 am a fool hy jrofession. 
My grannie she bought me a beuk, 

And I held awa to ihe school ; 
I fear I my talent misteuk, 

liul what will ye hae of a fool ? 
For drink I would venture my neck ; 

A hizzie's the h;ilf o" my craft ; 
But wh.1t could ye other expect, 

<Jf ane th.it's avmvedly daft '. 
T ance w.as ty'd up like ;i siirk,^ 

For civilly swearing and (|uaffing ; 
I ance was .abused i" the kirk, 

For touzling a l.iss i' mydaffin.^ 
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport. 

Let naebody name wi' a jeer ; 
There's ev'ii, I'm I uild. i' the Court, 

A tumbler c.a'd the I'reu'ier. 
Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad 

Maks faces to tickle the mob ; 
Ho rails at our mountebank siiuad, 

It's rivalship just i' the job. 
And now mv conclusion 111 tell, 

For faith I'm confoundedly dry; 
The chiel that's a ftx.l for himsel', 

Gude Lord, is far dafter than I. 

KtCCITATIVO. 

Then ncist outspak a raucle carlin,* 
Whakenl fu' weel to cleek the sterling, 
For monie a pur>ie she had hooked, 
And had in monie a well been ducked ; 
Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa the waefu' woodie !5 
Wi' sighs and sa!»s, she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman : 

* Staggered. 

"Bullock. ^Merriment. 

♦ Scout old w:Ti'.aii. 5 Rope. 



ti;ne — " o, an' ve weke dead, gi;ii> 

MAN." 

A Highland l.ni my love was born, 
'J'he l^awlan' laws he hehl in scorn: 
But he still was faithful to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandmatt, 

CHORUS. 

Sing, hey, my braw John Higb- 
landman ! 

Sing, ho, my braw John Highland- 
man : 

There's no a lad in a' the Ian' 

Was match for my John Highland* 
man. 

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
.And gude d lyinore di)wn by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan. 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

W^e ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
And liv'd like lords 'M\(k ladies gay; 
For a Lawlan face he fe.ired nane, 
My gallant brasv John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, fi:c. 

They banish'd him beyond ihe sea, 
But ere the bud was on the t'-ee, 
Adown my cheeks tlie pearl- ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
.Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh ! they catch'd him at the last, 
Anil bound him in a dungeon fast; 
My curse upon them every ane, 
They've h;nig"d my braw John High- 
landman. 

.Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
'Ihe pleasures that will neer return ; 
No comfort biu a hearty ':an, 
When 1 think on John Highl.indman. 
Sing, hey, &C. 

recitativo. 

A pigmy Scraper wi' his fiddle, 

Wha us'd at irysts and fairs to driddle,' 



PU.y. 



WORKS OF BL/AWS'. 



Her srrappin limb .tnd gaucy ' middle 

(He reach'd nae higher), 
Ha-i holed his heanie like a riddle. 

And hlawnt on fire. 
\Vi" hand on haunch, and upward e'e, 
Ho cnion'd his gamut, ane, twa, three, 
Vhen, in an Armso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Set aft", \vi' Allegretto glee. 

His giga solo. 

ArK. 

TUNK— " WHISTl.K o'er THE LAVE 

o't." 

Let njc ryke= up to dight "' that tear. 
And gii wi' me and be my dear, 
Aiid then your every care and fear 
May whistle owrc the lave o't. 

CIIOKUS. 

I am a tiddler to my trade, 
And a" the tunes that e'er I play'd, 
'J'he sweetest siill to wife or maid. 
Was whi.stle o er the lave o t. 

At kirns and weddings wc'se be there. 
And oh ! sae nicely's we wiU fare ; 
We 11 bouse about,' till Daddie Care 

Sings Whistle owre the lave ot. 
I am, ^c. 
Sue merrily's the banes we'll pyke,* 
And sun <>ursels about the dyke, 
And at our leisure, when ye like, 

We'll whistle owre the la\ e o t. 

1 am, S:c. 
But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, 
And while 1 kiilleS hair on thairms. 
Hunger, cauld. and a' sic harms, 

May whistle owre the lave ot. 

1 am, &c. 

K'KCITA riVO. 

Hcrchann«; hail struck a sturdy caiid,* 
As well a> pmir gut scraper; 

He l.ik> ih.; ri.ldler by the beard, 
And draw.-, a rusty rai)ier — 



L 



•Jollv. 

5 While 
Ckatnlwrs, 



' Reach. 
•> Pick. 
I apply hair lo catgut. — 
6 Gipsy. 



He swoor, by a' was swearing vvortl^ 
'io speet him like a pliver. 

Unless he wad from that time forth 
Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly ee, poor 'Iweedlc-dee 
Upon his hunkers beiided, ' 

And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' fac«^ 
And sae the quarrel ended. 

But tho' his little heart did grieve 
When round the t.nkler prcst her. 

He feign'd to sniitle' in his sleeve. 
When thus the Laird address'd her , 



TINE— "CI.OUT 1 MR CAUDRON." 

Mv bonnie lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station ; 
I've travell'd round ;dl C hristian grounti 

In liiis my occupation : 
r\e ta'en the gold, I've Jieen enroll'd 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when ofT I 
march'd 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've ta en the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imi^ 

Wi' a' his noise and caprin. 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron ; 
And by that siou]), mv faith and houp. 

And by that dear Kilbagie,' 
If eer ye want, or meet wi" scint, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie.' 

And by that stoup, S:c. 



KECITATIVO. 

TheCaird prevail'd — th'm blushing fa»«" 

In his endxaces sunk, 
Partly wi' love o ercome sae sair. 

And parti)- >he was drunk. 
Sir N'iohuo, with an air 

That show d a man o' spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair. 

And made the liottle clu:ik. 

To their health that night 



.augh. 



'A peculiars 
3 Ihroat. 



it •){ wliJsln 



POEMS. 



But Tiurchin Cupid shot a shaf: 

'J'lat play'd a dame a shavie,* 
The (uliiler rakd her fore and aft, 

Aliim the cliicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o" Homer's craft, 

'I'ho' limping wV thespavie, 
He hirpl d- up, and lap like daft, 

And shord ' them Dainty Davie 
O' boot that night. 

lie was a care-defying blade 

As ever Hacchus listed, 
Xhn" Fortune >air upon hin> laid, 

His heart she ever miss d it. 
He had nae wish, but — to be glad. 

Nor want but — when he thirsted; 
He hjJcd nought but — to be sad, 

And thus ti.e Muse suggested 
His sang that night. 



TUNR — "for a' that, and a' THAT.'' 

I AM a bard of no regard 
VVi" gentlefolks, an" a' that : 

But Homer-like, the glowrin byke,^ 
Frae town to town I draw that. 



Far a' that, and a' that. 
And twice as meikle's a' that ; 

I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', 
I'v ; wife enough for a' that. 

I nevci drank the Muses' stank, S 
Castalia's burn, an' a' that : 

Bi t there ii streams, and richly reams. 
My Helicon I ca" that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Grert love I bear to a' the fair, 
'Jhiir humble slave, an' a' that; 

But lor lly will, I hold it still 

A n;ortal sin to thraw that. 

For a" that, &c. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 
\Vi' mutual love, an' a" that ; 

But for how lang the flic may stanjj. 
Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, ^c. 



Trick. ' Crept. 
* Storing crowd. 



3 Threat( ned. 
5 Pool. 



Their tricks and craft hae put me dart. 
They've ta'en nic in, and a' Jiat ; 

Kul clear your deck.s, and " Here's 
the Sex!" 
I like the jads for a' that. 

For .V th.at, and .a' that. 

And twice as meiklcs a' ihit. 

My (learest bluid. to do them guid, 
They're welcome till i, for a' that. 

KECITATIVO. 

.So simg the bard — and Nansie*.;' wa's 
Shook with a thunder of appiause, 

Ke-etho"d froii: each nioiuh : 
They toomd- their pocks, ;,n' pawn'd 

their duds, ' 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds * 

To (luench their lowanS drouth. 

Then owre again, tlit jovial thrang 

'I'hc poet did re«iuesi. 
To loose his pack, an" wale'" a sang, 
A ballad o' the best : 
He, rising, rejoicing, 

I'.etween his twa Deborahs, 
Looks roumi him, an" found ihe^ 
Impatient for the chorus. 



TUNE — "JOU.V MOKTAl.S, FILL YOU« 
CLASSKS." 

Se»=: ! the smoking bowl before us, 
Mark our jovial ragt;td ring ; 

Round and round take up the chorus. 
And in raptures let us sing : 



^ Poosie Nansie, otherwise Agnos 
Gibson, kept a sort of cadger's house, 
nearly opposite to the churchyard 
gate in Mauchline. N\'c are lold by 
the biographers of iJurns, that passing 
by the house, one iiij.'ht, in the com- 
pany of Jann;s Siniili, he was allured 
by the mirthful uproar to go in .iiidjoin 
the crew. "Ihe Canlata gives the po- 
etical experience of liie night. 

* Emptied. - K.igs. * Tails. 

5 Flaming. 6 Ch'X>se. 



irORKS OF BURXS, 



A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a Rloritiiis feast ! 
C.'urts f<»r CK^'ards were erected, 

Cliiirchcs built to please the priest. 

What is title? what is treasure? 

What is reputations care? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or where ! 

A fig, &c. 

With the ready trick and fable, 
Round we waniler ail the day ; 

And at ni^lit, in barn or stable, 
llug our doxies on the hav. 

A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carriaee 
'Ihro' the country lighter rove? 
[ Docs the sober bed of marriage 

Witness brighter scenes of love ? 
A fig, &c. 

I Life Is all a variorum, 

I We regard not how it goes ; 

I Let iheni cant about tleconmi 

^ Who liave characters to lose. 

i A fig, &c. 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets ! 
Here's to all the wandering train ! 
; Here's our ragged brat> and callets ! 

One and all cry out, Amen ! 

A fig, &c. 



IMPROMPTU 

AODRKSSEU TO A VOUNC. t.ADV IN A 
CHfKCII WHO WAS KNr.A(;KI> IN 
SEAKCIIIN<; KOK A TKXT GIVKN Ot/'T 
BYTHK MINISTKK, WHICH CONTAIN- 
ED A SEVKKK DKNCNCIATION ON 
OBSTINA1K SISNEKS. 

Fair maid, you need not t.ikc the hint, 

Nor i«Jlc le.\t> i>ursne : 
Twas /.--"'^O' -"/'.'/.rA- that he meant, 

Not ans'ls such ps you ! 



CASTLE GORDON.* 

Streams that glide in orient plaoia. 
Never bound by winter's chains ! 

Glowing here on golden -ands. 
There conunix'd with foulest stains 

From tyramiy".*. empurpled hands; 
These, their riclily-glcaiiiing waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves : 
Give me the stream thai sweetly lavM 

The banks by Castle Gordon. 

Spicy forests, ever gay. 
Shading from the burning ray 

Hapless wretches sold to toil. 
Or the ruthless natives way, 

iJent on slaughter, blood, and spoil; 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
1 leave thf; tyrant and the slave : 
Give me the groves that lofty brav»» 

'J'he storms by Castle Gordon. 

Wildly here, without control, 
Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 

In that sober pensive mood, 
Dearest to the feeling soul. 

She plants the forest, pours the fiooa 
Life's poor day 111 nuism rave, 
And find at night a sheltring cave, 
Wliere waters flow and wild woods 
wave. 

By bunnie Castle Gordon. 



THE AULD FARMER'S NEW- 
YEAR MORNING SALUTA- 
TION lO HbS AUI.D MARE 
MAGC.IE, ON GIVING HER 
'i HE ACCUSIOMED KIPP OF 
CORN lO HANSEL IN THE 
NEW YEAR. 

A cuii) New- Year I wish thee, Mag- 
gie : 

Hae, there's;! ripp= to thy auld bag- 
gie: 

' Written after a brief visit, in 17S7 
to Gordon Castle, the seat of the Duk# 
of Gordon. * Ha'tdful. 



POEMS. 



rho' thou's howe-backit* now, an' 
knaggie,- 

Ive icen the day. 
Thou could hae gano like oiiio staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 
Tho' now thoiis dowie,^ stiff, an' crazy, 
All' thy aulil hide's as white's a daisie, 
I've seen lliee dapfjl't, sleek, an' glaizie, 

A bwanie gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to 
raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance w-; i' the foremost rank, 
A filly I)uirdl>,'* stce%e, 5 an" swank,^ 
An' set weel down a shapely shank. 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae llown out-owre a stank,^ 

Like onie bird. 

It's now some iiine-an'-twenty year, 
Sin' thou \»*s my guiil-father's meere • 
He gied iul ihec, »>' t-icher** clear. 

An fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was snia', "twas weel won gear. 

An" thou was stark. 9 

When first 1 gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was irotiin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye wa:^ irickie, >!ee. an' I'luniie, 

Vene er wasdunsie;"'' 
But haniely, lawie, (|iiiei, caimie, 

An' unco simsie." 

That «'ay, yc pranc'ii wi' muckle pride, 
\\ ht-n ye bure ""' hame my buunic- jjride ; 
Aa' sweet an gracefu' she did ri<le, 

\Vi' nuiideii air I 
Kyle Stewart \ (.-..uld bragged wide. 

For sie a pair. 
Tho' now ye dt»w'< but hoyte and 

Ir.M.Ic, 
An' wnilt; like a satunont-citble,'-* 
That da\ ve \va> a juiker noble, 

V\,v heels air win' ! 
An' ran tlicm ii!l they a' I'.id wauble.'S 

Far, far behin'. 



' Sunk ill the back. '^ .Sharp-pointed. 

' Wr.'ii; .lui. •* .Stoui-made. 

S Sircii- vet. 6 Stately. ' Mjirass. 

" M..riu-e i»urlion. '■> .Su>ut. 

»° l..ah.< ky. . " Kasilv handled. 
-» Did i. :;.r. 'J' Can. 

•* SitL'.-ivp Ji»l.in« boil. '5 Reel. 



When thon an' I were young and 

skeigh,' 
An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh," 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an 
skreigh 

An* tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, and stooii .iLeigh,* 
An' cat thee mad. 

WHien thou was com't, an* I was mel- 
low. 
We took the road ay like a swallow: 
At Hrooses-» thou had ne'er a tellow. 

For pitli an .-.peed : 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 
Whare er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rump!'t,3 hunter cattle. 
Might aiblins^ waur I tliee for a brat- 
tle:'" 
But sax .Scotch miles thou try't theik 
nteitle. 

An' gart them whai/lc : 
Nae whip nor spur, but ju^: a wuttle 
O' >augh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble fittie-!an',*< 

As e'er in tug^ or tow ' ' was drawn ? 

Aft thee an I, in aught hours gaun, 

Ungmd .March wcathei, 
Hae lurn'd .sax rood be>ide our ban'. 

For liays ihegnher. 

Thou never braindgt, ' an" fecli't,'" an 

lliskit,' 
But ihv aril. I tail thou wad hae whiskit. 
An' .spread .ibreed liiy weel fillj 
brisket, 

\Vi' pith an' pow'r. 
Till Spritiy knowcs '■• w.td rair'l and 
riskit, 

An' slypel '-^ owre. 



' High-mettled. - Tedio'is. 

3 At a sal'e disi.mce. 

•* .A bror.se is a race at a widding. 

? J'hai droops at the irrupjier. 

<» IVrluips. ^ .•shori ra':e. 

** 'J'he i>ear lior>e af the hiiKimost pail 
1 the plough. 

9 Tracer of bide. '■ Rope. 

' ' Phui-ed f.)rwaid. '-' I'ulle i bv fitl 
'5 Freiied. '•* Uushy hillocks. 

*5 Fell over. 

B a 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Wie;-. frosts l;iy lang, an' snaws were 

deep, 
An' ihreatcti'd labour back to keep, 
1 gied ihy coj; ' a wee-bit heap 

Ab.vjn the tiinmer ; 
I Icn'd my -Maggie vvadiia sleep 

For that, or siimuer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 
The stcyesi ^ brae tliou wail hae face't 

il : 
Thou never lap,'* an* sten't,** and 

breast i I, 

I'hen stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

' I'hou snoov"t5 awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn-tiine a' : 
Four garant brutes as e'er <lid draw; 
Forbv<- jax mac, I've sell't awa, 

I hai tliou has nurst : 
They drew nie tliretteen «> pund an' twa, 

'Jhe vera warst. 

Monic a sair daurk' we twa Iiae 

wrc'iiiht, 
An' wi' ihj weary warl" fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

W'c wad be beat ! 
Yet lierc to tr.-i^y age we're brought, 

Wr something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
I'hat !U»w perliaps shou's less dcservin. 
An" thy auld days may end in starvin, 

F<ir my last ft-u, 
A lieapit htiiiipail,*"- I'll ie»erve ane 

haid by for you. 

We've won; to crazy years thegiihcr ; 
Well t.»yte''ab'»i!l wi' ane anilher; 
Wi' teniie care I il (lit thy tether 

To some hain'<l '' rig 
Whareyemay if>biy rax " yourleaiher, 

W'l' »ma' fali;;ue. 



* Manger. ^ Steepest. 

3 I-eajicd. < Reared. 

5 Went at an even pace. 

^ 'Ihiricen. ^ I »ay*.s la'oour. 

8 Eighth part o''a Vjiisiiel. * Totter. 

•° Spared. " blrct^-Ii. 



TO A MOUSE, ON rURNfNCl 
HER UP IN HER NES'I, Wl'l H 
THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 

1785-' 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beas'Je^ 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
1 hou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi" bickering brattle !* 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi* murd'ring paiile !3 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Natures social union, 
An' justifies that dl opinit)n, 

Which makes ihee startle 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companiori. 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may 

thieve ; 1 

What then? poor beasiie, thou maun 

live 1 ( 

A daimeu-icker-* in a ihrave \ 

'S a sma' -eipiest : 
1*11 get a blessin \\'\ the lave, 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ? 
lt:> silly wa*s the vviu's are strewiii i 
An' naething, now, to big5 a new one, 

<-)' foggage green I 
An' bleak Decendjcrs wimls ensuin, 

liaitli snell'' an' keen ! 

'i'hou saw the fields laid bare an' waste^ 
An' weary wint';r cumin fast. 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

"i liou lhi>uglu to ilwell. 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter pa:>t 

Out thro' thy cell. 



' A faiin-servant, lately living, was 
driving t!;e pl.iugh, which Kurns held, 
when a lamise ran across the field, 
i'lie man's first inipidse was to rush 
after and kill it ; liui ihe poet si4)pped 
him, and soun turning ilmiighiful, tha 
verses were conceived and l>ori:. 

- Hurry. 

3 Instrument for clearing the uloiigh, 

•* An ear of corn now and ihia: « 
thrave is twenty-four theave;:. 

5 Uuild. ^ Bitter. 



POEMS. 



I hit Wee bit heap o' leaves aiv stibble 
H4.S cost thee niony aweary nibble ! 
Now ihou's turn'd out, for a' tliy trou- 
ble, 

I'lit house or halt!,* 
To thole * the vvuiter's sleety dribble. 

An" cranreuch^ cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,^ 
In proving foresisjht may be vain : 
The beit-laid scheiUKs o' mice an' men, 

Cian^ aft a-g!ey,5 
An' lea'e us n >UL;ht but grief and pan.. 

For proniis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, coniparM \vi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, Uch I I backward cast my e'e 

( )n prosp.'cts drear ! 
An' forward, tlio' 1 caiuia see, 

I guess an' fear ! 



A WINTER NIGHT. 

1-oor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you 

are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless 

sKjrni 1 
How shall your houseless heads, and 

inifcd sides. 
Vour loop'd and w indow'd raggedness, 

defend yon. 
From seasons such as these ? — 

Shakspeare. 

Whfn biting I>oreas, fell and doure,^ 
Shaip shivers thro' the leafless bow'r ; 
When Phoebus gies a short- livd glow'r, 

Far Mjuth the lift,'" 
Dim-dark 'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

(Jr whirling drift : 
Ac night the storm the steeples rocked. 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked. 
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths^ up- 
cb Weil 

Wild-eddying swirl, 



* Wiihoiu abiding-place. 

' Kndiue. ^ Hoar-frost. 

* Til vself alone. 5 Wrong. 
6 Sullen. ^ The s-ky. 

* Drifted heaps of snow. 



Or thro' the mining outlet booked,* 
Down headlong hurl. 

List'ning the doors an' winnocks* 

rattle, 
I thought me on the ouric^ cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war. 
And thro' the drift, dcep-la'^i?g,* 
sprattle,5 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk l..\pping6 bird, wee, helpless thing ' 
'J'hat, in the merry inonths o" spring, 
Delighted me t<i hear thee sing. 

What comes o' thee? 
Wharc wilt thoucowr thy chiltering' 
wing. 

An' close thy e'e? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'J, 
Lone from your savage homes exil'd, 
'I'he blooJ-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote 
spoil d. 

My heart forgets, 
While pityless the iemf)est wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phccbc, in her nndnight reign, 
Dark muftVd, view'd the dreary plain; 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train. 

Rose in my soul. 
When on my ear thi> plaintive strain, 
Slow, solemn, stole-— 
" Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier 

gust ! 
And {v^Q7.<L, thou bitter-biting frost ! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering 

snows I 
Not all your rage, as now united, 
shows 
More hard unkintlness, unrelenting. 
Vengeful malice, imrepenling, 
Than heavii-illuinind man «.>» brother 
man bestows I 
See stern ( )pi»ression*s iron grip. 
Or mad .-Vmbition's gory hand. 
Sending, like blood-hounds from the 
slip. 
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land ! 



* Flung out. 
3 Shivering. 
5 Scraml>!e. 
" Shivering. 



- Windows. 

■• Deep wading 
fi Hopping, 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Ev'n in the peaceful raral vaie, 
Truili, weeping, iclls the mournful 
lale, 
How pamper' d Luxury, Flall'ry by 
her side. 
The panisite empoisoning her ear, 
Wiih all ihe servile wretches iu the 
rear. 
Looks o'er proud property, extended 
wide : 
And eyes the simple rustic hii:<:t. 
Whose toil upholds the gjili'ring 
show, 
A creature of another kind, 
Son?e coarser substauce, iiiirefin'd, 
Plac'd for her i<»nlly use thus far, thus 
vile, below I 
Where, where is Love's fond, tender 

throe. 
With lonlly Honour's lofty brow, 

'Jhe powrs you proudly own '! 
Is there, Ijcneaih Love's noble name, 
(Jan harUiur, dark, the seltisi; aim, 

'Jo ble>s himself alone ! 
Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

'I'll love-prctcnilin^ snares, 
This boa.sied Honour turns away, 
Shunnii!^ soft Pity's rising sway, 
Regardk*ss o( the tears, and unavailing 
pray'rs ! 
Perhap>, this hour, in mis' ry's squalid 

nest 
She strains your infatit to her joyless 
j breast, 

! /Ind with a mother's fears shrinks at 

i the rocking blast ! 

Oh yc I who, sunk iu beds of down, 
Feel not a want but what yourselves 

create. 
Think, tor a moment, on his wretched 
fate. 
Whom friends and fortimc quite 
disown ! 

lU-salished keen nature's clam'rous 
I call, 

! Strelchd on liis straw he lays him- 

i self to sleep, 

ArTiile thro' the ragged roof and chinky 
v*al!. 
Chill o'er his slumbers, piles the 

dnJiy heap ! 
Thuik on the dungeoii's grim confine. 
Where <iuiU uiid poor Ali:>fonuuc 
pine I 



Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 
V>\\X. shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch, already crushed low 
By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow t 

Affliction s sons are brothers in distress ; 

A brother to relieve, how exquisite tha 
bUss !" 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 
Shook off the pouthery snaw. 

And hail'd the ni<>rning with a cheer, 
A cottagf-i ous'ng craw.' 

But deepthistrith impress'd mymicd— 
'i'hro' all His works abroad, 

The heart benevolent aifd kind 
The most resembles (jod. 



THE TARBOLTON LASSES.' 

Ik ye gae up to yon hill-tap, 
Ve II there see bonny I'cggv • 

She kens her father is a laird. 
And she forsooth s a leddy. 

'J'here Sophy tight, a lassie bright. 
Besides a handsome fortune: 

Wua canna w in her in a night. 
Has little art in courting, 

Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale. 

And tak a look o' My sic ; 
She's dour ^ and din, a deil within. 

But aiblms-* >he may plea.se ye. 

If she be shy, her sister try. 
Veil maybe fancy Jenny, 

If yell di>j»euse wi want o sense- 
She keii.s hersel she's bonny. 

As yc gae up by yon hill-side. 

Sijcer in for Ijomiy Hes>y ; 
She II gie ye a beck, and bid ye licht, 

And handsomely address ye. 

There's few sae boiinie, nane sae guid 
in a' King Ge«irge'> tlomini(;:i ; 

If ye should doubt the truth o" this— 
It's Bessys ain opuiion. 



' Crow. 
3 Obbtinate. 



« See p. 8. 
* Perha|>s. 



POEMS. 



Si 



VERSES TO AN OLD SWEET- 
HEART AFTER HER MAR- 
RIAGE/ 

(written in 1786.) 
Once fondly loved, and still rcmem- 
berd dear, 
Sweet early object of my youthful 
vows ! 
/-xept this mark of friendship, warm, 
sincere — 
Fsiendsliip ! — 'tis all cold duty now 
allows. 
\nd when you read the simple, artless 
rhymes. 
One frieiully sigh for him, — he asks 
no more. 
Who distant burns in flaming torrid 
climes. 
Or haply lies beneath the Atlantic's 
roar. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE,' A BRO- 
THER POET. 

January, 1784. 

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond 

blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw. 

And hing us owre the ingle, 3 
I set me down, to pass the time. 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely, westlin jingle. 

* Written on the fly-leaf of a copy 
of his poems presented to the laciy, 
whose name is not mentioned. It is 
supposed that the poet was contem- 
plating emigration. 

^ Davie was David Sillar, the author 
of a book of Scottish verses. Gilbert 
Burns writes respecting his brother : — 
It was, I think, in summer, 1784, when, 
in the interval of harder labour, he and 
I were weeding in the garden (kail- 
yard), that he repeated to me the prin- 
cipal part of this Epistle. I believe 
the first idea of Robert's becoming au- 
thor was started on this occasion. 

3 Fire-place. 



While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Hen to the chimla-hig,' 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift. 
'1 hat live sae bien " an' snug : 
I tent ^ less, and want less 

Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker. 
To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's pow'r, 

To keep, at times, frae being sour. 

To see how things arc shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands 
rant. 
And ken na how to wair't ;* 
I'ut, Davie, lad, ne'er fash 5 your head. 

Tho' we hae little gear. 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
A.I lang's we're hale and fier : 6 
" Mair spier na, nor fear na," ' 

Auld age ne'er mind a feg^^ 
The hist ot, the warst o't. 
Is only for to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 
When banes are craz'd, and bluid is 
thin. 
Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could mak us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a 
taste 
Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile. 
However fortune kick the ba',' 
Has aye some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

What tho', like commoners of air. 
We wander out, we know not where. 

But either house or hal'? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and 

woods. 
The sweeping vales, and foaming 
floods. 
Are free alike to all. 



' To the parlour hearth. 

=> Plentiful. 3 Heed. 

4 Spend it. 5 Trouble. 6 Sound 

7 R -unsay .—R. B. 8 Fig. 9 BaU 



IVORh'S OF BURNS. 



In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And lilackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 

We'll sit and sowth ' a tune ; 

Syne ^ rhyme till't,^ we'll time till't, 

And sing't when we hae done. 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest : 
It's no in making muckle mair ; 
It's no in liooks ; it's no in lear,^ 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast. 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 
Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart aye's the part aye, 
That maks us right or wrang. 

Think ye. that sic as you and I, " 
Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' 
dry. 
VfV never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent 5 us in their way, 

As hardly 'worth their while? 

Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 

Govl's creatures they oppress ! 

Or else, nevjlccting a' that's guid, 

They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless, and fearless. 

Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming and deeming 
It's a an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pininy at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit. hae met wi' some, 

An's th.mfn' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

'I'hey let us ken ourscl ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 

The real guid and ill. 



• Whistle over. 'Then. 3 To it- 
* Learning. 5 Heed. 



Tho' losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe. 
There's wit there, yell get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 
But tent me, Davie, .ace o' hearts ! 
(To say aught less wad wrang thi 
cartes,' 
And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart. 

The lover an" the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg,^ your dearest pari. 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me. 
To mention init her name: 
It heats me, it beets me,3 
And sets me a' on flame ! 
O all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very seif art love ! 
Thou knowst my words sincere I 
The life-blood streaming thro' my hearty 
Or my more dear inuuortal part. 

Is not more fondly de.ir ! 
When heart -corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest. 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast 
Thou I'eing, AU-sceing, 

O hear my fervent pray'r ; 
Still take her, ami make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 
All hail, ye tender feelings dear ' 
'I'hc smile of love, the friendly tear, 

'J'be symp.itiietic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thoniy ways 
Had number'd out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still! 
It lightens, it brightens 
'J he tenebrific scene. 
To meet wiiti, and greet with 
My Davie, or my Jean. 



' Cards. 

'"Meg" was Margaret Orr, tht 
nursery-maid of Mrs. Stewart of Stair, 
—A. C. 2 Adds fuel. 



POEMS. 



57 



O, ho- that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin,' rank and file, 

Amaist l)efore I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As PhfJibus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
Mv spaviet^ Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly hel • 
And then he'll hilch,3 and stilt, ar.d 
jimp, 
An' rill an unco fit : 

But lest then, the beast then. 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll lii^lit now. and dighf* now 
His sweaty, wizen'dS hide. 



THE LAMENT.6 

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFOKT/NATE 
ISSUE OK A FKIENd's AMOUR. 

Alas! how oft does Goodness wound 

itself. 
And Sweet Affection prove the 

spring of woe ! Home. 

THOU pale Orb, that silent shines. 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Thou seest a wr-tch that inly pines. 
And wanders here to wail and weep ! 

With woe 1 nightly vigils keep, 

Beneath ihy wan unwarming beam; 

A.nd iiiourn, in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream. 

i joyless view thy rays adorn 
The faintly-marked, distant hill: 

1 joyless view thy trembling horn, 

Rsflected in the gurgling rill : 

* Marching lightly. 

'' Spavined. ^ Hobble. 

4 Wipe. 5 Shrunk. 

6 It is scarcely necessary to mention, 
that "The Lament" was composed on 
that unfortunate passage in his matri- 
monial history, which I have m».-rtioned 
in my letter to Mrs. Dunlop, after the 
first distraction of his feelings had a 
little subsided.— G. B. 



My fondly fluttering heart, he still ! 

Ihou busy pow'r. Remembrance, 
cease ! 
Ah ! must the .agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains. 

My sad, love-lorn huiienlings claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe— Arcadian strains; 

No fabled tortures, i|uaiiil and lame : 
The plighted faith ; the mutual llame ; 

The oft-attested powrs above ; 
The promis'd father's lender name : 

These were the pledges of my love ! 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd momentl 
llown ! 
How have I svish'd for fortune's charms. 

For her dear sake, and hcr> alone I 
And niu.U I think it ! i^ she gone. 

My secret heart's exuliing boast? 
And does she heedless hear my groan I 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart. 

So lost to honour, lost Ui truth, 
As from the fondest lover part. 

The r'.:~I-ted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! lite s path may be unsinootn ! 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress I 
Then, who her pangs and pains will 
soothe. 

Her sorrows share, and make them 
less? 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more eiijoy'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast. 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts em- 
ploy'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void. 

For her too scanty once of room J 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd. 

And not a wish to gild the gloom I 

The morn that warns th' approaching 
day. 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array, 

'Ihat I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full m.any a panij, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wring my soul, ere Ph<jebus, low, 

Sliall kiss the disUnt, westeru main 



1 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



And when my lightly couch I try, 

Sore harassd out with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye. 

Keep watchings with the nightly 
thief : 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, 

Reigns, haggard-wild, in sore af- 
fright : 
Ev*!! day, all-bitter, brings relief. 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

O ! thou bright Queen, who o'er the 

expanse 
Now highest reign'st, with boundless 
sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

ObservVl us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away. 

While loves luxurious pul>e beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 
To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 

Oh I scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never to return ! 
Scenes, if in stujxir I forget. 

Again 1 feel, again I burn ! 
From cv'ry joy and jileasurc torn, 

Lite's weary vale I wander thro'; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY. 



Opi'RESs'd with grief, oppress'd with 

care, 
A burden more than T can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh : 
O life ! thou art a galling load. 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such a^ 1 ! 
Dim backward as I cast my view, 

What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro', 
Too justly 1 may fear ! 
Still caiing, despairing. 

Must be my bitter doom ; 

My woes her«; shall close ne'er, 

llut wit! tfic closing tomb ! 



Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife. 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd. 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd. 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight. 

Unfitted with an aim. 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night, 
And joyless morn the same ; 
You, bustling, and justling. 

Forget each grief and pain; 
I, listless, yet restless. 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the Solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgeiling, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots* 
Sits o'er liis newly-gather d fruits. 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought. 

By unfrequented stream. 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint-collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to Heav'n onhigl^ 
As wand'ring, nieand ring. 
He views the solemn sky. 

Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never hiunan footstep trac'd. 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to sto]), and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : 
But, ah ! those pleasures, loves, and 
joys 
Which I too keenly taste, 
The Solitary' can despise. 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not. 

Or human love or hate. 
Whilst I here must cry here. 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh • enviable, early days. 
When dancing thoughtless pleasurs'* 
maze. 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill cxchaiigd for riper times. 
To feel the follies, or the crimes. 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush. 



POEMS. 



Vt littiS ktvow the ills ye court, 
V/hen m.inhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all. 
Of dim-declining age ! 



LINES TO MY BED. 

Thou bed, in which I first began 
To be that varied creature — Man ! 
And when again the fates decree. 
The place where I must cease to be ; 
When sickness comes, to whom I fly 
To soothe my pain or close mine eye ; 
Wiien cares surround me, where I weep, 
Or lose them all in balmy sleep ; 
When sore with labour, whom I court, 
And to thy downy breast resort; 
Where too ecstatic joys I find. 
When deigns my Delia to be kind ; 
And full of love, in all her charms. 
Thou giv'st the fair one to my arms : 
The centre thou, where grief and pain. 
Disease and rest, alternate reign. 
Oh, since within thy little space 
So many various scenes take place. 
Lessons as useful shalt thou teach. 
As sages dictate — churchmen preach ; 
And man, convinced by thee alone, 
This great important truth shall own. 
That thin partitions do divide 
The bounds where good and ill reside; 
That naught is perfect here below. 
But bliss still bordering upon ivoe ! 



WINTER. 



The wintry west extends his blast. 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes 
down. 

An I roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest. 

And pass the heartless day. 



"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ep- 
cast,"' 

Th; joyless winter-day. 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, ii soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join : 
The leafless trees my fancy please. 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty 
scliome 

Tiiese woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best. 

Because they are Thy will ! 
Then all I want (Oh ! do thou grant 

Ihis one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY 
NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO ROBEKT AIKEN, ESQ.," 
OF AVK. 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny ob- 
scure ; 
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful 
smile. 
The short but simple annals of the 
Poor. — Gray. 

M Y lov'd, my honour'd, much respected 
friend ! 
No mercenary bard his homage 
pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish 
end : 
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem 
and praise : 



* Dr. Yoting.— R. B. 

' Mr. Aiken was a " writer " in Ayr ; 

Gilbert Burns affectionately notices him 
in a letter to Currie, as a man of worth 
and taste, and warm affections, ^rA 
who eagerly spread among his frierds 
the merits of the new Poet. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



To you I aing, In simple Scottish lays, 
The lowly train in life's sequester'd 
scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guile- 
less waj's ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have 
been ; 
Ah ! though his worth unknown, far 
happier there I ween. 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry 
sugh;* 
The short'ning winter-day is near a 
close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the 
pleugh ; 
The black'ning trains o' craws to 
their repose ; 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour 
goes, 
This night his weekly moil is at an 
end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and 
his hoes, 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to 
spend. 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course 
does hameward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in 
view. 
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, 
stacher^ thro'. 
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin^ 
noise an' glee. 
His wee bit iny;le, blinkin bonnilj^, 
His clane hearth-stane, his thriftie 
wifie's smile. 
The lisping infant pr.-ittling on his knee. 
Does a" his weary carking cares be- 
guile. 
An' makes him quite forget his labour 
an' his toil. 

Belyve,^ the elder bairns come drap- 
ping in, 
At service out, amang the farmers 
roun';3 



• Rushing sound. ' Stagger. 

3 Fluttering. 4 Py and by. 

5 Although the "Cotter," in the 

&Uurday Night, is an ;xact copy of my 



Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, som« 
tentie ' rin 
A cannie errand to a neelor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jeni.y, woman 
grown, 
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in 
her e"e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw 
new gown. 
Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in 
hardship be. 

Wi* joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters 
meet. 
An' each for other's welfare kindly 
spiers : 
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unno- 
ticed fleet ; 
Each tells the uncos ^ that he seeso* 
hears ; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful 
years, 
Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her 
shears. 
Gars 3 auld claes look amaist as weel's 
the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their master's an' their mistress's com- 
mand, 
The younkers a' are warned to 
obey ; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent * 
hand. 
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk 
or play : 



father in his manners, his family devo- 
tions, and exhortations, yet the other 
parts of the description do not apply to 
our family. None of us ever were 
"At service out amang the neeljors 
roun'." Instead of our depo>iting our 
"sair-won penny-fee " with our parents, 
my father laboured hard, and lived with 
the most rigid economy, that he might 
be able to keep his children at home. 
— Gilbert Bums to Dr. Currie. 0( t. 
24, tSoo. 

^ Cautious. ' News. 

3 Makes. * Dilig'snr. 



r 



POEMS. 



6i 



" An', oh ! he sure to fear the Lord al- 
way, 
An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' 
iiight ! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gangastray. 
Implore His counsel and assisting 
might : 
rhey never sought in vain that sought 
the Loid aright !" 

6ut, hark ! a rap comes gently to the 
door; 
Jenny, wlia kens the meaning o' the 
same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the 
moor, 
To do some errands, and convoy her 
hame. 
The wily mother s»-es the conscious 
flame 
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her 
cheek ; 
NVi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires 
L.s name, 
While Jenny hafflins^ is afraid to 
speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae 

wild worthless rake. 
Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him 
ben ; 
A strappan youth ; he takes the 
mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill 
ta'en ; 
The father cracks ^ of horses,pleughs, 
and kye. 
The youngsters artless heart o'erflows 
wi' joy, 
But, blate^ and laithfu',"* scarce can 
weel behave ; 
The woman, wi' a woiiian's wiles, can 
spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' 
an' sae grave ; 
Wec\ pleas'd to think her bairn's re- 
spected like the lave. 5 

happy love ! where love like this is 
found ! 
O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond 
compare ! 

^ Half. = Talks. 3 Bashful. 

* Sheepish. S The rest. 



I've paced much this weary, mortal 

round. 
And sage experience bids me thU 
declare — 
" If Heav'n a draught of heav'nly plea, 
sure spare. 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest 
pair. 
In other's arms breathe out the tend- 
er tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that 
scents the ev'ning gale ! " 

Is there, in human form, that bears a 
heart — 
A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and 
truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring 
art, 
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting 
youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling 
smooth ! 
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all 
exil'd ? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
Points to the parents fondling o'er 
their child'/ 
Then paints the rnin'd maid, and theii 
distraction wild ! 

But now the supper crowns their simple 
board, 
The halesome parritch, chief o' 
Scotia's food : 
The suupe their only hawkie^ does 
afford. 
Thai 'yont the hallan ^ snugly chows 
her cood ; 
The dame brings forth in complimental 
mood, 
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd' 
kebhuck,-i fell. 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid : 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell 
How 'twas a towmondS auld, sin' linl 
was i' the bell. 6 



' Cow. * Partition wall. 

3 Well-saved. ■♦ Chejse. 

5 A twelvemonth. 
^ Suicc the flax was in flow er 



IVORKS OF BUKNS. 



The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious 
face, 
They, round the ingle, form a circle 
wide ; 
Tlie sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal 
grace, 
The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's 
pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
His lyart haffets wearing thin an' 
bare ; 
ITiose strains that once did sweet in 
Zion glivle, 
He wales ^ a portion with judicious 
care; 
And " Let us worship God ! " he says, 
with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple 
guise ; 
They tune their hearts, by far the 
noblest aim : 
Perhaps " Dundee's" wild warbling 
measures rise, 
Or plaintive " IVIartyrs," worthy of 
the name ; 
Or noble " Elgin " beets the heav'nward 
flam^, 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy 
lays: 
Compard with these, Italian trills are 
tame ; 
The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures 
raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's 
praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred 
page, 
How Abram was the friend of God 
on high ; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
With Amalek's ungracious progeny 



Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's 
avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or orher holy seers that tune the sacred 
lyre. 



Grey locks. 



Chooses. 



Perhaps the Christian volume is th 
theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty mau 
was shed ; 
How He, who bore in Heav'n the se- 
cond name, 
Had not on earth whereon to lay His 
head : 
How His first followers and servants 
sped ; 
The precepts sage they wrote to 
many a land : 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished. 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel 
stand ; 
And heard great Bab'ion's doom pro- 
nounced by Heav'n's command. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's 
Eternal King, 
The saint, the father, and the husband 
prays: 
Hope "springs exulting on triumphant 
wing,' ' 
That thus they all shall meet in fu- 
. ture days : 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter 
tear. 
Together hymning their Creator's 
praise. 
In such society, yet still more dear; 
While circling time moves round in an 
eternal spl.ere. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Re- 
ligion's pride, 
In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations 
wide 
Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the 
heart ! 
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will 
desert, 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal 
stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far a] art. 
May hear, well pleas'd, the language 
of the soul ; 
And in His hook of life the inmatei 
poor enrol. 



Pope's "Windsor Forest."— R. B. 



POEMS. 



rKen loine fard all take ofl" their sev'ral 
way ; 
The ycM'.iiglui;^ cottagers retire to rest: 
The paieni pair tlieir secret homage 

pay. 

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm 



Ih: 



reipiest, 
at He, who stills ther.i 



ravens clam reus 



And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Vould, in the way His wisdom sees the 
best, 
For them, and for their little ones 
provide ; 
but chiefly, in their hearts with grace 
divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's 
grandenr springs, 
'Ihat makes her lov'd at home, re- 
ver'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of 
kings ; 
"An honest man's the noblest work 
of God:" 
And certes,in fair virtue's heav'nly road. 
The cottage leaves the palace far be- 
hind ; 
Wliat is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous 
load, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human 
kind. 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness 
refind ! 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 
For whom my warmest wish to Hea- 
ven is sent! 
Lonjif may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be ble!>t with health, and peace, and 
sweet content ! 
And, oh, may Heaven their simple lives 
prevent 
From luxury's contagion, weak and 
vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be 
rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the 
while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their 
much Iov"d Isle. 

P Thou I who pour'd the patriotic tide 
That stream'd thio' Wallace's un- 
daunted neart ; 



Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or noblj' die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art. 
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and re- 
ward !; 
O never, never Scotia's realm desert ; 
But still the patriot, and the patriot- 
bard, 
In bright succession raise, her orna- 
ment and guard ! 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.' 



When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years. 

And hoary was his hair. 

Young stranger, whitherwand'restthoul 

Began the revrend sage ; 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constraii\, 

Or yourhful pleasure's rage? 
Or, haply, prest with cares and woes. 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of Man. 
The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Outspreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds lalxjur to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 

I'wice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs 

I'hat Man was made to mourn. 



* Several of the poems were produc-ed 
for the purpose of hringmg forward 
some favourite sentiment of the author 
H'i used to remark to me, that_he could 
not well conceive a more mortifying 
picture of human life than a man seek- 
ing work. In casting about in his mind 
how this sentiment niiglit be brought 
forward, thu elegy, " Man w\s mi>'i; t j 
mourn," was composed —• G. ii. 



WORICS OF BURNS. 



O man ! while in thy early years, 

How jrodig.xl of time I 
Mis-spendiiig all thy precious hours. 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force give nature's law. 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active mighi ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right. 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn ; 
Then age and want, oh ! ill-match'd 
pair! 

Show Man was made to mourn. 

A few seem favourites of fate. 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all tlie rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, oh ! what crowtls in ev'ry land 

Are wretched and forlorn. 
Xhro' weary life this lesson learn, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves. 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heav'n-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight. 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to loil ; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn. 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave — 

By Nature's law design'd, — 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

Vet, let not this too much, my son, 
Disturb thy youthful breast : 



This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, bet;n born. 
Had there not been some recompence 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

O death ! the poor man's dearest frieml 

'I'he kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with the<; at rest ! 
'i'he great, the wealthy, fear thy blow 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, oh ! a blest relief to those 

Ihat weary-laden mourn ! ' 



ON THE ILLNESS OF A BE- 
LOVED CHILD. 

Now health forsakes that angel face 
Nae mair my deary smiles ; 

Pale sickness withers ilka grace. 
And a' my hopes beguiles. 

The cruel Powers reject the prayer 

I hourly mak for thee ! 
Ye heavens, how great is my despaii, 

How can I see him die ! 



A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT 
OF DEATH.* 

O Thou imknown. Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour 

Perhaps I nuist appear ! 

* Whatever might be the casual idea 
that set I he poet to work, it is but too 
evident that he wrote from the habitual 
feelings of his own bosom. The indig- 
nation with which he contemplatec* the 
inequality of human conditi(>n, and par- 
ticularly tJie contrast between his own 
worldly circunstances and intellectual 
rank, was never more bitterly nor more 
loftily expressed, than in some of these, 
stanzas. — Lockhart. 

^ Burns has entitled his verses, "A 
prayer, when fainting fits, and otHei 



POEMS. 



If I have wander'd In those paths 

Ot life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly in my breast. 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou know'st ihat thou hast formed me, 
With passions wild and strong ; 

And list'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

C)r frailty stept aside, 
Do thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art. 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have. 
But Thou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS ON THE SAME 
OCCASION.' 

Whv am I loth to leave this earthly 
scene ! 
Have I so found it full of pleasing 
charms? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill 
between : 
Some gleams of sunshine 'mid re- 
newing storms ; 
Is it departing pangr my soul alarms ? 
Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark 
abode? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in 
arms : 
I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And jusMy smart beneath his sin-aveng- 
ing rod. 

Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul 
offence !" 
Fain promise never more to disobey; 



■latming symptoms of pleurisy, or 
some other dangerous disorder, which 
indeed still threatens me, first put na- 
ture on the alarm." 
' 'August, [1784,] Misgivings in the 

! hour of Despondency and Prospect of 

! Death. 



But, should m> Author health again 
dispense. 
Again I might desert fair virtue's 
way ; 
Again in folly's path might go astray ; 
Again exalt the brute, and sink tue 
man ; 
Then how should I for Heav'nly mercy 
pray. 
Who act so counter Heav'nly mercy's 
plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to 
temptation ran ? 

O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest ceasQ 
to blow. 
And still the tumult of the raging sei ; 
With that controlling pow'r assist 
ev'n me. 
Those headlong furious passions to 
confine. 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 
To rule their torrent in th' allowed 
line ; 
O, aid me with thy help. Omnipotence 
Divine ! 



LYING AT A REVEREND FRIENU's HOIJSR 
ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOK LEFT THB 
FOLLOWING • 

VERSES 

IN THE ROOM WHEKE HE SLEPT.* 

O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign's* 
above ! 
I know 'I'hou wilt me hear : 



* The first time Robert heard the 
spinnet played upon was at the house 
of Dr. Lawrie, then minister of the 
parish of Loudon, now in Glasgow, 
having given up the parish in favour 
of his son. Dr. Lawrie has several 
daughters; one of them played; the 
father and mother led ilowii the dance ; 
the rest of the sisters, the brother, the 
poet, and the other guests, mixed in 



WORKS OF BUKNS. 



When for this scene of peace and love 

I make my pray'r sincere. 
Tlie hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 
[ Long, long, be pleas'd to spare : 

' To bless his little filial flock. 

And show what pood men are. 
She, who her lovely offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears. 
Oh, bless her with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 
Their hope, their sUy, their darling 
youth. 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth. 

Up to a parents wish. 
The beauteous, seraph sister-band. 

With earnest tears I pray. 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand, 

Guide 'I'hou their steps aiway. 
When soon or laic they reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driv'n. 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in Heav'n ! 



THE FIRST PSALM. 

The man, in life wherever plac'd. 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way. 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 
Nor from the seat of scornful pride 

Casts forth his eyes abroad, 
But with humility and awe 

Still walks before his God. 
That man shall flourish like the trees 

Which by the streamlets grow ; 
The fruitful top is spread on high. 

And firm the root below. 
But he, whose blossom buds in guilt, 

Shall to the ground be cast, 
And like the rootless stubble tost, 

Before the sweeping blast. 

it. It was a delightful family scene for 
our poet, then lately introduced to the 
world. His mind was roused to a 
poetic enthusiasm, and the Stanzas 
were left in the room where he slept. 
— G. B. 



For why ? that God the good adoK 
Hath givn them peace and rest, 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRES 
SURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.* 

O Thou Great Being ! what Thou ail 

Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 
Thy creature here before 'i'hee stands, 

All wretched and distrest ; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my .--oul 

Obey 'Ihy high behest. 
Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not M,i 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my wearj- eyes from tears. 

Or close them fast in death ! 
But if I must afilicted be, 

1"o suit some wise design ; 
Then man my soul with firm resol cs 

To bear and ».ot repine ! 



STANZAS WRITTEN WHILE 
UNDER EXCESSIVE GRIEF." 

Accept the gift of a friend sincere 
Wad on thy wof th be pressin' ; 

March, 1784. 

* I'here was a certain period of niy 
life that my spirit was broke by 
repeated losses and disasters, which 
threatened, and indeed effected, the 
utter ruin of my fortune. My body 
too was attacked by that most dreadful 
disorder, a hypochondria, or confirmed 
melancholy. In this wretched state, 
the recollection of which makes me yet 
shudder, I hung my harp on the willow 
trees, except in some lucid intervals, 
in one of which I composed the fol- 
lowing. — R. B. 

* Written in 1786, and first printed 
ia the .$*»» newspaper of April 1823. 



POEMS. 



Remembrance oft may i.tart a tear. 
But oh that tciulcrness forbear, 
Tho' 'tvvad my sorrows lessen. 

My morning rose sae clear and fair, 

I thought sair si -"rms wad never 
Bedew the scer.a ; but grief and care 
In wildest fury hae made bare 
My peace, my hope, for ever ! 

You think I'm glad : oh, I pay weel 

For a" the joy 1 borrow. 
In solitude— then, then I feel 
I canna to myself conceal 

My deeply ranklin' sorrow. 

Farewell ! within thy bosom free 

A sigh may whiles awaken ; 
A tear may wet thy laughin' ee, 
For Scotia's son — once gay like thee — 
Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken ! 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF 
THE NINETIETH PSALM. 

O Thoit, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place ! 

Before the mountains heav'd their 
heads 

Beneath ihy forming hand, 
Before this poiurrous globe itself 

Arose at Ihy command ; 

That pow'r, which rais'd and still up- 
holds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 
Those mighty periods of years, 

Whicli seem to us so vast, 
Appear no n»ore before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word ; Thy creature, 
man, 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men, 

Return ye into nought !" 

rho'i 'ayest them, with all their cares. 
Id »'verl»si«n3 sleep ; 



As with a flood thou tak'st them off 
With overwhelming sweep. 

They flonrish like the morning flow *, 
In beauty's pride array'd ; 

But long ere night cut down, it lies 
All wither'd and decay'd. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TUf<NING ONE DOWN WITH THB 
Pl-OLGH, IN APRIL, 1 786.' 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush ainang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet. 
The bonnie Lark,^ companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! 

Wi' spreckl'd breast. 
When upward-springing, blythe, tfl 
greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Aniitl thy storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaimting flow'rs our gardens yield 
High shelt'ruig W(X)ds and was maus 
shield, 



' The Daisy grew in the field next 
to that in which the plough had turned 
up the mouse's nest. 

^ I have seldom mtt with an image 
more truly pastoral than that of the 
lark in the second stanza. Such strokes 
as these mark the pencil of the poet, 
which delineates Nature with the pre- 
cision of intimacy, \'et with ihedelicata 
colouring of beauty and 'aste. — H. 
Mackenzie, in "The Lounger* 
No. 97. 

F 2 



68 



WOhKS OF BUBNS. 



But thou beneath the random bield ^ 

O' clod, or stane, 
Adorns the histie^ stibble field, 

Unseen, alane. 
There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy saawy bosom sunward spread. 
Thou lilts thy ur assuming head 

In lunnble guise; 
BuJ now the share uptcars thy bed. 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet flowVet of the rura'. shade ! 
By Jove's simplicity betray'd, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all solid, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has 

striv'n, 
By human pride or cunning driv'n 

'I'o mis'ry's brink. 
Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 

lie, ruin'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's 

fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Kull on thy bloom, 
Tillcnish'd beneath the furrow's weight 
Shall be thy doom ! 



TO RUIN.3 



All hail ! inexoral le lord ! 

At whose dcalruction-breathing word 



* Shelter. * Dry. 

3 I have here enclo'ied a small piece, 
the very late^t of my productions. I 
am a gool deal pleastd with some sen- 
tinieiiis myself, as ihey are just the 
Dative querulous feelings of a heart 



The mightiest empiies fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train^ 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv d, despairing «.ya^ 

1 see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my heart. 
I'hen low'ring, and pouring, 

'I'he storm no more I dread : 
Tho' thick'ning and black'ning 
Round my devoted head. 

And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr j^ 
While life a pleasure can afford. 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more 1 shrink appalld, afrai J ; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid. 

To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace. 

Resign life s joyless day : 
My weary heart its throbbing cease. 
Cold mouldring in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more, 

I'o stain m\ lifeless face. 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thv cold embrace ! 



STANZAS ON THE DESTRU(.% 

TION OF THE WOODS NEAR 

DRUMLANRIG.' 

(WKllTEN IN 1796.) 

As on the banks o' wand'ring Nith 
Ae smiling suuuner morn I stray'd. 



which, as the elL-u.-uuly melting Gray 
says, *' Melancholy has marked for her 
own." — To Mr. Kennedy, April 20, 
1786. 

' According to Mr. Chambers, the 
Duke of Queensberry, who was no 
great favourite with lUirns, " had strip- 
ped his domains of Drumlanrig, in 
Dumfriesshire, and Neldpaih, in Pee- 
blesshire, of all the wood fit for being 
cut, in order to enrich the CouiilCiS 
of Yarmouth, whom he supposed to be 
liis daughter." 



POEMS. 



And traced itsbonnyhow isandhaughs' 
Where Unties sang and lambkins 
play'd, 

I sat me down upon a craig, 
And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, 

When, from the eddying deep below, 
XJprose the genius of the stream. 

Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow, 

And troubled like his wintry wave, 
And deep, as sughs^ the boding wind 

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave — 
" And cai.ie ye here, my son," he cried, 

"To wander in my birken shade? 
To muse some favourite Scottish theme, 

Or sing some favourite Scottish maid ! 

"There was a time, it's nae langsyne, 

Ye might hae seen me in my pride. 
When a' my banks sae bravely saw 

Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
When hanging beech and spreading elm 

Shaded my stream sae clear and cool ; 
And stately oaks their twisted arms 

Threw broad and dark across the 
pool ; 

"When glinting through the trees ap- 
pear'd 

The wee white cot aboon the mill, 
And peacefu" rose its ingle reek,3 

That slowly curled up the hill. 
But now the cut is bare and cauld, 

Its branchy shelter's lost and gane, 
And scarce a stinted birk is left 

To shiver in the blast its lane." 

"Alas !" said I, "what ruefu' chance 

Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees ? 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 

Has stripp'd the deeding o' your 
braes ? 
Was it the bitter eastern blast, 

That scatters blight in early spring? 
Or was't the wil'-fire scorch'd their 
boughs, 

Or canker-worm wi' secret sting?" 

' Nae eastliu blast," the sprite replied ; 
" It blew iia here sae fierce and fell ; 
And on my dry and halesome banks 
Nae car.ker-worms get leave to dwell : 



■ Valleys. ' Moans. 3 Smoke. 



Man ! cruel man !" the genius sigh' d— 

As through the cliffs he sank him 

down— 

"The worm that gnaw'd my bonny 

trees. 

That reptile wears a ducal crown ! " 



TO MISS LOGAN, WI'l H BEAl- 
TIE'S POEMS, 

AS A NEW YKAr'S CirT, JANUARY r, 
1787. 

Again the silent wheels of time 

Their annual round have driv'n. 
And you, tho" scarce in maiden prime, 

Are so much nearer Heav'n, 
No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts. 

In Edwin's simple tale. 
Our sex with guile and faithless love 

Is chargd, perhaps, too true ; 
But may, dear Maid, each lover provt 

An Edwin still to you ! 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG 
FRIEND.' 

MAY, 1786. 

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae ither end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and ciiance determine ; 
Perhaps, it may turn out a sang. 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, 
And .Andrew dear, believe me, 

Ye'll find mankinil an unr d S4]uad, 
And muckle they may grieve ye: 



* Andrew Aiken, of Ayr, son of the 
friend to whom liurns inscribed "Th« 
Cotter's Saturday Night." 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



For care and trouble set your thought, 
Ev'n when your end's attained ; 

And a' your views may come to nought, 
Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 

I'll no say, men are villains a'; 

The real, harden'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked ; 
But, Och ! mankind are unco weak. 

An' little to l>e trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake. 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 
Yet they wha ' fa'^ in fortune's strife. 

Their faie we should na censure, 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man niay hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith ^ hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 
Aye free, afl"-han' ■* your story tell. 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcelj- tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as wcel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek 5 thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpcn'd, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe^ o' weel-plac'd love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it ; 
I wave the qiiantinn o' the sin, 

The hazard o' concealing ; _ 
But, Och ! it hardens a' within. 

And petrifies the feeling ! 
To catch dame Fortune's golden smile. 

Assiduous wait up(jn her ; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justify'd by honour; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train attendant ; 
But for the gluriou> privilege 

Of being independent. 
The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip. 

To baud the wretch in order; 
But where ye feel your honour grip. 

Let that aye be your border ; 



»\Vho. 
< Off-hand. 



Fall. 
SPeep. 



3 Poverty. 
6 Flauie. 



Its slightest touches, instant pause - 

Debar a' side pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws. 

Uncaring consequences. 
The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creature; 
But still the preaching cant forbear. 

And ev'n the rigid feature ; 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to rangp, 

lie complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist-laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity oficnded ! 
When ranting round in pleasure's ring. 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or, if she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're lempest-driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A corres])ondence fix'd wi' Heav'n 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 
Adieu, dear, amiable Youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth. 

Erect your brow nndaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, "(Jod send you 
speed," 

Still daily to grow wiser; 
And may you better reck the rede,' 

Thau ever did th' Adviser ! 



ON A SCOTCH I^ARD, GONE 
TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A' YE wha live by sowps' o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by cra'nbo-clink,' 
A' ye wha live an" never tlunk. 

Come mourn wi" me ! 
Out billie's-* gien us a' a iink,5 

An' owre the sea. 

I-ament him a' ye rantin core,* 
Wha dearly like a raniiom-splore,' 
Nae iiiair he'll jo n t'e ineriy roar, 

In social key ; 
For now he's laen .inither shore. 

An' ower the sea ! 

* Heed the counsel. ' Spoonsful 
3 Rhymes. 4 ( )ju- brother, a Dodge 

* Corps. ' Riot. 



PeEMS. 



The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their clear pet'tions place him; 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him 

Wi" tearfii' e'e ; 
For wcel I wat they'll sairly miss him, 

'Ihats ower the sea ! 

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou ta'cn aff some drowsy 

bumnilc,' 
VVha can do nought but fyke' an' 
fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was glcg^ as ony wunible,'* 
That's owrc the sea ! 

Auld, cantie Kyle 5 may weepers wear. 
An' stain them wi" the saut, saut tear ; 
'Twill inak her poor auld heart, 1 fear, 

In Hinders^ Hcc ; 
He was her Laureat monie a year, 

'Ihat's owre the sea ! 

He saw misfortune's cauld Nor-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jillet^ brak his heart at last, 

III may she be ! 
So, took a berth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble imderFortune'scummock, 8 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,' 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach. 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't'° his hurdies in a hammock. 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gi'en to great misguiding. 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding, 

He dealt it free : 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in. 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel. 
An' hap" him in a cozie biel ;" 
Ye'U find him ay" a dainty chiel, 

And fu' o' glee ; 
He wad na wrangd the vera deil, 

'ihat s owre the sea. 

* Blunderer. ^ Fuss. 3 Sharp. 

'• A wi nble. 5 Kilmarnock. 

6 Shreds. 7 Jilt. « Staft'. 

9 Meal and water. '° Wrapped. 

" Cover. «= Shelter. 



B'areweel, my rhyme-composing hiV.it i 
Your native soil was right ill-willie ; 
But may ye flouri^h like a lily, 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie,* 

Tho' owre the sea ! 



TO A HAGGIS.* 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, > or thairm: 
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill. 
Your hurdies like a di.-.tant hill. 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In lime o' need. 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic Labour dight,* 
An' cut you up wi" ready slight. 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glori(jus sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 

Then, horn for horn they stretch aa' 

strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive. 
Till a' their weel-swall'd 5 kytes6 belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, mai>t like to rive,' 
" Bethankit" hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout. 
Or olio that wad stawS a sow, 
Or fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconr.er;' 

* Diminutive of gill. 

^ A dish which is only known or 
relished in Scotland. It is said fo be 
composed of minced mutton, oatmeal, 
and suet ; but a Southron reader will 
not desire a particular receipt. 

3 Small entrails. •♦ Wipe. 

5 Swelled. 6 Stomachs. ' Burit 

s Surfeit. ' Loathing. 



irO/!A'S OP Birnys. 



Looks dowTi wf sneering, scornfu' view 

Un sic a dinner ! 
Poor devil ! se : him owre his trash, 
As ftxkless' a>* a wither'd rash, 
His s;.indle shank a gxiid whip-lash, 
; His nieve" a nit :^ 

Thro' bloody ll<><id < r field to dash, 

O how an fit ! 
l?ut mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 
1 The trembling earth ri-sonnds his tread, 

j Clap in his walio-' nievc a blade, 

J He'll niak it whissle ; 

' An' legs, an' arnis. an' heads will sned.S 

j Like taps o' ihrissle. 

Ye pow'rs wha niak mankind your care. 
And dish them out their bill o" fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 

ihiit jaiips in higgles ;6 
But, if ye \vi>h her gratefu' prayer, 
Gic her a Haggis. 



! A DEDICATION TO GAVIN 

• HAMILTON, ESQ. 

Expect na. Sir, in this narration 
A fleechin," tlcih rin^ Dedication, 
To roosc yon up, an' ca' you guid, 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye'reMirnamd like His Grace, 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I'm lir'd — and sae are ye, 
j Wi" mony a fui>ome, >infu' lie, 

j Set up a face, how ! stop >hort 

I For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may dt>— maun do, Sir, wi" them 
wha 
Maun please the great folk for a wame- 

fou ; 9 
For me I sae laigh I needna bow. 
For, Lord be ihaiikit, I can plouirh ; 
And when I downa \-oke a naig.^'^ 
. Then, Lord In.- tliankit, I can l>eg : 

Sae I shall sa\-, an' that's nae fiatt'rin, 
1 Its just sic Poet, an" sic Patron. 

I ' Weak. ° Fist. 3 Nut. •» Large. 
5 Lop. 6 Splashes in wooilen di>hes. 
' Supplicating. 8 Flattering. 

9 Bellyful. "^ Ho>se. 



The Poet, some guid angel help him. 
( >r else, I fear some ill ane skelp himl 
He may do wee! for a' he's done yet. 
But only he's no just begun yet. 

The Patron ^Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me). 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be. 
He's just — nae better than he should L«. 

I readily and freely grant. 
He downa sec a p<ior man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it. 
What ance he says he winna break it , 
.■\ught he can lend he'll no refus't. 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'ii iliat, he does na mind it lang : 
As nrvtcr, landlord, husb.and, father. 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' 
that : 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca" that ; 
It's n.acthing but a milder feature 
Of our jxMir, sinfu", corrupt nature: 
Ve'll get the Lest o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan I'x'.rks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
1 hat's he's the poor man's friend 'ii 

need, 
The gentleman in word and deed. 
It's no thro" terror of danmation ; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality, thou deadly b.me. 
Thy tens o' thou>ands thou hast slain! 
\'ain is his hope, wlio>,estay and trust is 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ' 

No — stretch a point to catch a pl.ack : ' 
Abuse a brotlier to his back ; 

Steal thro" a wiiuiock-' frae a 

Lut jMiint the rake tliat taks the door; 
I'e to the poor like onie whunstane,-^ 
.And hand their nose> to the grunst^ne. 
Ply ev'ry art o" legal thieving ; 
Nae matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, and half 
mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves,5 an' lang, wrj 
fac|;s ; 

' Strike. " .An old Scotch coin 

3 Window. * Whinslone. 5 H.mLi 



POEMS.. 



73 



Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan. 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of Calvin, 
Forgumlie' dubs^ of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror ! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in 

wrath, 
And in tlie fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping ber,oni, 
fust frets till Heav'n commission gies 

him : 
While o'er the harp pale Mis'ry moans. 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I muist forgat my Dedication ; 
But when divinity comes cross me. 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour. 
But I maturely thought it proper. 
When a' my works I did review. 
To dedicate them. Sir, to you : 
Because (you need na tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronize them wi' your favour. 
And your petitioner shall ever — 
1 nad amaist said, evr:r pray : 
But that's a word ' need na say : 
For prayin I hae uttle skill o't ; 
I'm baith dead-swcer,3an' wretched ill 

o't; 4 
But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r. 
That kens or hears about you, bir, — 

" May ne'er misfortune's gowling 
bark 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! 
May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 
For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
May Kennedy's far honoured name 
Lang beet 5 his hymeneal flame ; 
rill Hamiltons, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
Five bonnie lasses round their table. 
And seven braw fellows, stout and able, 

' Muddy. = PoE ds. 

3 Extremely averse. 4 Qf it. 

S Add fuel to. 



To serve their King and Ciuritry weel, 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and peace, with mutual 

rays. 
Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
'I'ill his wee, curlie John's ier-oe,' 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow. 
The last sad mournful rites bestow 1 " 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavonrh 
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and 

favours, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Pow'rs above prevent) 
That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
Attended in his grim advances. 
By sad mistakes, and black mischances. 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures 

fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am. 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor ! 
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n 
While recollection's powV is given, 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of fortune's strife, 
I, thro' the tender gushing tear. 
Should recognise my Master dear. 
If friendless, low, we meet together, 
Then, Sir, your hand — my Friend a^d 
Brother ! 



TO A , ON SEEING ONE 

ON A LADY'S BONNET AT 
CHURCH. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin fer 

lie!^ 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt^ rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho', faith, I fear ye dine but spareljf 

On sic a place. 



* Great grandchild. 
' Wonder. 



3 Sti-ut. 



74 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd hy saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit ' upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Git somewhere else, and seek your 
dinner 

On some poor body. 

Swith,'* in some beggar's haflfet 3 squat 

tie; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and 

sprattle4 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 
In shoals and nations : 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare un- 
settle 

Your thick plantations. 
Now baud ye there, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rils,5 snug an' tight; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it. 
The vera tapmost, tow' ring height 
O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose 

out. 
As plump and gray as onie grozet : 6 

for some rank, mercurial rozet. 

Or fell, red smeddum,7 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 8 

1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ;9 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On 's wyliecoat : ^^ 
But Miss's fine Lunardi !" fie. 
How daur ye do't ? 

O Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's '- makin ! 
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin ! 

' Font. = Get away. 3 Temple, 

■♦ Scramble. 5 Ribbon-ends. 

6 Gooseberry. 7 Powder. 8 Breech. 

9 An old-fashioned head-dress. 

'° Flannel vest. 

" A bonnet, named after Lunardi, 
whose balloon made him notoricius in 
Scotland about 1785. 

*" The shrivelled nwarf. 



O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e u\ 

And ev'n Devotion ! 



LINES WRITTEN AT KEN- 
MORE, TAYMOUTH." 

AdiMiring Nature in her wildest grace, 

These northern scenes with weary fea 
I trace ; 

O'er many a winding dale and painfu> 
steep. 

The abodes of covey'd grouse and 
timid sheep. 

My savage journej'-, curious, I pur- 
sue, 

Till fani'd Breadalbane opens to my 
view, — 

The meeting cllflfs each deep-sunk glen 
divides, 

The woods, wild scatter'd, clothe tlieii 
ample sides ; 

Th' outstretching lake, embosom'o 
'mong the hills. 

The eve with wonder and amazement 
'fills. 

The Tay, meand'ring sweet in infant 
pride. 

The palace, rising on its verdant side ; 

The lawns, wood-fring'd in Nature's 
native taste. 

The hillocks, dropt in Nature's care- 
less haste ; 



' Professor Walker informs us that 
" Burns passed two or three days with 
the Duke of Athole, and was highly 
delighted by the attention he received, 
and the company to whom he was in- 
troduced. By the Duke's advice he 
visited the falls of Bruar, and in a few 
days I received a letter from Inverness, 
vyith the above verses inclosed." These 
lines were first written over the chim- 
ney-piece in the parlour of the inn at 
Kenmore. 



POEMS. 



rhe arches, striding a'er the new t)oiin 

streani. 
The village, glit:«nng in the noon-tide 

beam. 



Here Poesy might wake her heaven- 
taught lyre^ 

And look through Nature with creative 
fire ; 

Here, to the wrongs of Fate half recon- 
ciled, 

Miafortune's lighten'd steps might wan- 
der wild ; 

And Disappointment, in these lonely 
bounds, 

Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling 
wounds ; 

Here heart-struck Grief might heaven- 
warii stretch her scan. 

And injured Worth forget and pardon 
man. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislati<jn"s sov' reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatterd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr 1 stray'd. 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

1 shelter in thy houour'd shade. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy Trade his labours plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod; 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes. 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind. 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest meiit's silent claim : 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And nevir envy blot thoir name ! 



Thy daughters blight thy walks idom. 

Gay as the gilded summer sky. 
Sweet as the dewy miik-wliite thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy I 
Fair Burnet ' strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine; 
I see the Sire of Love on high. 

And own his v/ork indeed divine 1 

There watching high the least alarms, 

'J hy rough rude fortress gleams afar: 
Like some bold \et'raii, gray in arms, 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar: 
The pond'rous w all and massy bar. 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock. 
Have oft withstood assailing war, 

And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying 
tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome. 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

F.im'd heroes, had tlieir royal home: 
Alas, how chang'd the tirno to come ! 

I'heir royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless racewild-wand ring roam! 

I'ho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just ! 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n 1 who sing in rustic lore. 

Haply my sires have left their shed, 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, 

Bold-following where your fathers ' 

led! 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and towr's, ; 

Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs. 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd. 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter hi thy honour'd shade. 



* Daughter of Lord RIonboddo. 
Burns said there had not been ai y thing ( 

like her,in beauty, grace, and goodness, 
since Eve on the first day of /i«" cxisfr 
enc«. 



WORKS ^F BURNS. 



EP*STLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, 
AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD.* 

April ist, 1785. 

Wm.E briers an' woodbines budding 

green, 
An' paitricks^ scraicliin loud at e'en, 
An' mornuii; p()^l^-.^e ' wl.iddin-' seen. 

Inspire my Miis^, 
This freedom in an luiknow 11 frien' 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-ecn we had a rockin, 

To ca' the crack and weave our storkin : 

And there wa> niuckle fun and jokin, 

^'e need na doubt ; 
At length we hail a hearty yok nS 

At sang about. 



* The "Epistle to John Lapraik" 
was produced exactly on the occasion 
described by the author. He says in 
that poem, " ( )n fasten-e'en we had a 
rockin." 1 believe he has omitted the 
word rocking w the glossary. 1 1 is a 
term derived from those primitive times, 
when the country-women employed 
their spare hours in spinning on the 
rock, or distaft". This simijle implement 
k a very port.ible one, an'd well fitted 
to the social inclination of meeting \\\ 
%. neighbour's house ; henrethe phrase 
of going a-rocAiiig, or n'/.'/t i/w rock. 
As the connexion the phrase had with 
the implement was forgotten when the 
rock gave place to the spinnin^T-v\hee', 
the phrase came to be used by both 
sexes on social occasions, and men talk 
of going with their rocks as well as 
women. It was at one of these rock/)igs 
at our house, when we had twelve 
or fifteen yoinig people with their 
rocks, that !„ipraik's song, beginning, 
" When 1 upon thy bosom lean,'' was 
sung, and wc were mroriued w.io was 
the author. Upon this Robert wrote 
his first Epistle to LapraiK ; and h.s 
leccnd in reply to his answer. — G. B. 

^Partridges. J Haie. 

* Running. 5 \ bout. 



There was ac sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon thein a' it pleas'd me best, 
'I'hat some kind husband had addrest 

'lo .some sweet wife : 
It thiri'd ' the heart-strings thro' thr 
breast, 

A' to the life. 

I've scarce heard aught describes sae 

weel. 
What gen'rous, man'y boson^5 feel : 
Thought 1, "Can this be Pope, or 
Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark?" 
They lauld me 'twas an oild kind chid 
About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain'"' to hear't. 
And s.ae about him there 1 spier't, 
Then a' that ken'd him round declar'd 

He had ingine, ' 
That nane excell'd it, few cam near't 

It was sae fine ; 
That, set him to a pint of ale, 
An' either douce or merry tale. 
Or rhymes an'.sangs he'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale 

He had it:\v matches. 

Then up T gat, an' swoor an aith, 
Tho' I shoidd pawn my pleugh aiH 

graith,^ 
Or die a cadger pownie's ! death. 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gic them baith 

'i'o hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost, 1 should tell, 
Aniaist as soon as 1 could spell, 
I lu tlie crambo-jingle fell, 

J'ho' rude an' rough. 
Yet crooning 6 to a bod)'s sel 

Does weel encugh, 

I am nae Poet, in a sense, 

But just a Rhymer like, l)y chance. 

An' hae to learning nae pretence. 

Vet, what the matter!' 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glauc^ 

1 jingle at her. 



' 1 hrilled. ^ Very anxious. 

3 Genius. < And gear. 

5 Carrier pony. 



\na gear. 
^ liiiinnung. 



POEMS. 



71 



1 »iu C:itio>^-l'-. rr ay cocjc tlie.i- nose, 
And say, " How can yon e'er f ropose, 
Vou wha ken h-irdly verse frae prose. 

To niak a san^ ?" 
But, by your leaves, ni) learned foes, 

Ve're maybe wrang. 
What's a' your jixigon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest nature made you fools, 

What sairs' your grammars? 
Ye"d better taen up spades and shools. 

Or knappin"-hannners, 
A set o' dull, conceited hashes,^ 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stlrks,"* and come out 
asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne 5 they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek ! 
Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, 
'Jhals a" the learning I desire ; 
Ihen tho' I drudge thro' dub^an' mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, tluuigh hnmely in attire. 

May touch the heart. 

for a spunk" o" Allan's glee, 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee, 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be. 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear *> eneugh for me. 

If 1 could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye liae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, 1 b'lieve, are few, 
Yet, if yoiu- catalogue be fou,^ 

I'se no insist. 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list. 

1 winna blaw about mysel ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends and folk that wish me well, 

'I'hey sdiiieiinies roose"^ me ; 
Tho' I maun own, as moiiie still 

As far abuse me. 
There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to 

me, 
I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 

* Serves. ^ Stone-breaking. 

^ l.outs. * Cows. 5 'J'hen. 

6 Pond. ' Spark. 8 Learning. 

' Full. '° Praise. 



Formon'-s a plack they wheedle irae mei 

At dance or fair ; 
Maybe some ilher thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 
But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care. 

If we forgather,' 
An' hae a swap' o' rhymin-ware 

Wi' ane an ilher. 
The four-gill chap, we'se garhim clatter. 
An' kirsen^ him wi' reekin water: 
Syne we'll sit doww an' tak our whitter,^ 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be actpiainted be,-er 

Before we part. 
Awa ye selfish warlyS race, 
Wha think that bavins,^ sense, an' grace, 
Ev'n love an' friendship, should give 
place 

To catch-the-plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face. 

Nor hear your cr.ack. 
But ye whom social pleasure charms. 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness 

warms, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

' Each aid the others,' 
Come to my bowl come to my arms. 

My friends, my brothers ! 
But to conclude my lang epistle. 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 
I'wa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, 

Wiio am, most fervent, 
While I can either sing or whissle. 

Your friend and servant 



TO THE SAME.7 

April 2ist, 1785. 
While new-ca'd kye** rout^ at the 

stake. 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or b-aik,'" 

' Meet. ^ Exchange. 

3 Lhristen. ■* Hearty draught. 

5 Worldly. ^ IJood manners. 

7 In answer to verses wliich Lapiaik 
had sent. 

8 Cows. 9 Low " Harrcw 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



This hour or. e'enin's' edc;e I take, 
'Vo own I'm debtor 

To honest-hearted, aiild l-npraik. 
For his kind letter. 

Forjeskct' sair, with weary legs, 
Ratllln the corn out-owre the rigs. 
Or dealing thro' aniaug the naigs 

Their ten-hours' bite, 
Myawkwart Muse sair pleailsand begs, 

I would na write. 
The tapetlefs,' ranifeezl'd'* hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy. 
Quo' she, * Ve ken, we've been sae 
busy, 

This month an' mair, 
That trouth my head is grown right 
dizzic. 

An' something sair." 

Her dowff 5 excuses pat me mad ; 
"Conscience," says 1, "ye thowless* 

jad ! 
I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud. 

This vera night ; 
So dinna ye aflVont your trade, 
But rhyme it right. 

" Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' 

hearts, 
Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes,? 
Roose you sae wee! fur your <ieserts. 

In terms s.ae friendly, 
Yet ye'U neglect to shaw your parts. 
An' thank him kindly !" 

Sae I gat paper in a blink. 

An' down gaed stumpic in the ink : 

Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow rU close it ; 
An' if ye winna mak it clink, 

By Jove, I'll prose it !" 

Sae I've begim to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baitli tlicgiihir. 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly 
neither, 

Let time mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether^ 
Jus clean aff-loof.^' 



* Evening's. 

3 Foolish. * Tired. 

« Lazy. 7 Cards. 

• Unpremeditated. 



' Jaded. 

5 Silly. 
8 Nonsense. 



My worthy friend, ne'er grudge aa 

carp, 
Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp; 
Come, kittle ' up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesume touch ! 
Ne'er mind how fortune waft an' warp ; 
She's but a b — h. 

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg,' 
Sin" I could striddlo owre a rig; 
But, by the Lord, tho' 1 slioidd beg 

Wi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, and sing, an' siiake my leg. 

As king's I dow [3 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth .imr 

mer, 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer. 
Still persecuted by the liiunier 

Frae year tc year ; 
But yet, despite the kittle kiin.T.r,^ 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye env^' the city Gent, 
Behmt a kislS to lie and sklent,^ 
Or purse-proud, big wi' cent per cent. 

An' nuicklc waine,^ 
In some bit Baigh to represent 

A Bailie's name? 

Or is't the paughty,^ feudal Thane, 
Wi' rufllcd sark an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae slicep-shaalt 
bane, 

But lordly stalks. 
While caps and bonnets aflfare ta'en. 

As by he walks x 

" O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 

Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift. 

Then turn me, if 'I'hou please, adrift. 

Thro' Scotland wide ; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wailr.a shift, 

In a' their pride I" 

Were this the charter of our state, 
" On pain o' hell be rich an' gri>.i," 
Danuialion then would be our fate. 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heavn ! that » no th« 
gate 

We learn our o-- J. 



' Tickle. = Kick ^ Can 

* Skittish girl. •* vJ.»..nter. 

6 Deceive. 7 Bci';-- ^ Haiigbtv 



POEMS. 



For thus »he royal mindate ran, 
When first tiie liuman race began, 
"The social, friciully, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
Tjs he fullils great Nature's plan, 

And none but he !" 
O mandate glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers of the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils! yet may shine, 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line 

Are dark as night; 
The' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' 

growl, 
Their worthless nievefu" of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl. 
The forest's fright; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 
Then may Lapraik and lUirns arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys. 

In some mild sphere. 
Still closer knit in friendships ties 
Each passing year ! 



THE TWO LAWYERS, 

IN THE l'AKI,IAMENT HOUSE AT 
liUINIiUKGH.^ 

I,OKO ADVOCATE. 

He clcnch'd his pamphlets in his fist. 

He ([uoted and he hinted. 
Till in a declamation mist 

His argument he tint o't,'' 
He g.aped for't, he graped'* for't. 

He found it was awa', man ; 
But what his common sense cam short 

He eked out wi' law. man. 

DKAN OF FACJLTV. 

Collected Harry stood a wee, 
Then opcnd out his arm, man ; 



' Handful. 

= Mr. Hay Campbell, the f.ord Ad- 
vocate (afterwards Lord President), and 
Harry Erskine, the Dean of Faculty. 

3 Lost. ^ Groped. 



His lordship S3t, wi' niefu' e'e, 
And eyed the gath" ring storm, man 

Like wind-driven hail, it did assail, 
(Jr torrents owre a linn, man ; 

The liench, sae wise, lift up their eyf.8, 
Half-waken'd wi" the din, man. 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON/ 

OCHILTKEE. 

May, 1785. 

I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank yonbrawlie; 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly. 

An* unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie," 

Your flatterin strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented ^ 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel,* 
Should I but dare a hope to speel.S 
Wi' Allan, or wi' (iilbertfiel'.^ 

The braes o" fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the wriler-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry, inu>ly arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye Enbrugh Oentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wadstow'd his pantry!) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head. 
Or lasses gie my liearl a screed, ^ 
As whiles they're like to be my deed, 

{() sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 



' .Schoolmaster of Ochiltree. 
^ P.rother. 3 Sidelong flung. 

4 Be crazed. 5 Climb. 

6 Allan Ramsay and Hamilton o/ 
Gilbertfield. "> Rent. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Atild Coila, now, may fidge ' fu' fain. 

She's gotten Poets o" her ain, 

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,^ 

liiit tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her vv eel-sung praise. 

Nae Poet thought J)er worth his while. 
To set her name in measur'd style ; 
She lay like some unkend-of isle, 

IVside New Holland, 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an Jay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' 'iweed, to monie a tune, 

Ower Scotland rings, 
While Irwin, laigar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Nae body sings. 

Th* lUissns, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a lunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine. 

An' cock your crest. 
We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells, 
Herinoors red-brown wi' heather bells. 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, 

Whare dlorious Wallace 
Aft bure^ the gree, as story tells, 

Frae southron billies. 

At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace" side, 
Still pressing onward, rcd-wat-shod,'* 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O, sweet arc Coila's haughs San' woods. 
When lint whites 6 chant amang the 

buds. 
And jinkin ' hares, in amorous whids, 

"^riieir loves enjoy, 
U'hile thro' the braes the cushat croods^ 

Wi' wailfu" cry ! 

^ Be right glad. 

' Will not spare their bagpipes. 

3 Did bear. 

* Walking in blood over the shoe-tops. 

5 Vallevs. ^ Liimctw 

' Dodging. 8 (;oo 



Ev'n winter bleak has charms, to mc, 
When winds rave thro' the naked tre^; 
O.i frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray , 
Oi* blinding drifts wild-furio;is flee, 

Dark'ning the day ! 

O Nature ! a' thy shews an' forms 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ! 
Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' ight, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms. 

The lang, dark night ! 

The Muse, nae Poet ever fand 'her, \ 

Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burns meander, \ 

An' no think lang ; 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder j 

A heart-fell sang ! 

The war'ly race may drudge an' driv-*, | 
Hog-shojther,^ jundie,^ stretch, an' 

strive, — 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum"* owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing 

brither !" 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to 

ither : 
Now let us lay our heatls thegither, 

In l(ive fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal ! 

While highlandmen hate lolls an' taxes; 
While nuiorlan' herds 5 like guid, fat 

braxies ; 6 
JVhile terra firma, on her axis 

Diurnal turns. 
Count on a friend, in faiih an' prac ice. 

In Robert Burns. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen ; * 
I had amaist forgotten clem, 



* Found. ^ Push with the shoulder, 
3 Jostle. 4 Hum. 5 Shepherds, 

6 Diseased sheep. ' Pin. 



POEMS, 



L.. 



V"! badf me write j'ou what they mean 
r.y this New-Light, 

'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 
Rlaist like to fight. 

Indavswhen mankind were but callans* 
At grammar, logic, an' sic talents, 
They took nae pains their speech to 
balance. 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak ti.eir thoughts in plain, braid 
Lallans,- 

Likc you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the 

moon, 
JuKt like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
Wore by degrees, till hc-r last roon,3 

Gac-d prist their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done. 

They gut a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrang ; 
An' muc'itle din there was about it, 

}jaith loud an' lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk,* 
Wad threap 5 auld folk the thing mis- 

teuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, 

An' out o' sight. 
An' backlins^-crnun, to the leuk 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd. It was affirm'd ; ^ 
The herds an' hirsels^ were alarm'd ; ^ 
The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' 
sturm'd. 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks : 
Frae words an' aiihs to clours 8 an' 

nicks ; 
An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ; ' 

* Boys. ^ Lowland speech. 

' Shred. ♦ Book. 5 Maintain. 

< Returning. ^ Flocks. 

« Euwps. * Blow. 



An'simc.toleam thtm foi their txickj. 
Were hang'c/ ar. bnml.* 

This game was plav'd in moni; lands, 
An" Auld-light caddies i)ure sil hands, 
That, faith, the youngsters took the 
sands 

VVi' nimble shanks. 
The lairds farbade, by strict com.Tiands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But New-light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them ruined stick-an- 

stowe,* , , , 

Till now auiaist on ev ry knowe* 

Yell find ane plac d ; 

An' some their New-light fair avow. 

Just quite b.irefac'd. 

Nae doubt the Auld-light flocks are 

bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd aff 

sweatin : 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin "* spile. 
To hear the moon sae s.ndly lied on 
By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 5 
Some Auld-light herds in uecbur towas 
Are mind't, in thiims they ca' oalloons, 

■J"o tak a flight, 
An' stay ae month amang the moons. 

An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them :^ 
An' when the auld n.ocn's gaun toleae 
them, . 

The hindmost shaird,^ they'll fetch it 
wi' them. 

Just i' their pouch. 
An' when the New-Iight billies see 
them, 

I think they'll crouch I 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter ^ 
Is uaething but a " moonshine matter ; 
But tho' dull-prose folk Latin splatter 

In logic lul/ie.7 
I hope we Bardies ken some better 

'ihan mind sic bru'zi'.-." 



' Burnt. ' Totally. 

3 Hillock. '♦Grinning. 5 Fellovs, 

6 Shred. ' Quarrel. * A bx.4l. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE, 
ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O RO". GH, rud% ready-witted Rankine, 
The wale^ o' ».\x:ks for fun an' drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Yi; hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
Aiid in your wicked, drucken rants. 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill them fou : 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! 
Sparc 't for tneir sakes wha aften 
wear it, 

The \^JlS in black ! 
But your curst wit, when it comes 
near it, 

Rives 't aflf their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaith- 

It s just me biue-gown badge an' claith- 

ing 
O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them 
naithing 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 
Like you or L 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain'd for an' niair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect, 
Yon sang,* ye'll sen 1 5 wi' cannie care. 

And no neglect. 
Tho', faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her 

wing ! 
I've play'd nysel a bonnie spring. 

An' dancd my fill ! 

' According to Allan Cunningham, 
"an out-spok.'n, ready-witted man, 
Rnd a little of a syofl'er." 

^ Choice. -^ Damaging. 

4 A song he had promised the au- 
thor.— K. M, 5 Send it. 



I'd better gaen an' sair't ' the kins 
At Bunker's Hill. 

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi' the gun. 

An' brought a paitrick to the grun,' 

A bonnie hen ; 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

'Ihuught nane wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt; 

I straikit'' it a wee f^r sport. 

Ne'er thinkin they wa.l fash me for*! 

l)Ut, l)eil-mi.-care ! 
Somebody tells the po.-icher-court 

'I'he hale'* affair. 

Some auld us'd hands had ta'en a iiot«^ 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
So gat the whissle o" my groat, 

An' pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' gims the w.i.c. 
An' by my poulhcr an" my hail, 
An' by my lien, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear I 
The game shall pay, o'er moor ai«' aA*. 

For this, niest year. 

As soou's the cluckin-limeS is by. 
An' the wee pouts ^ begun to cry, 
L— d, I'se hae sportin by an' by. 

For my gowd guinea ; 
Tho' I should herd the Buckskin 7 (^^t 

Fort, in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
'Jwas neither broken wing nor liml.'. 
But twa-lhree draps about the wamj,* 

Scarce thro' the feathers; 
An' baith a yellow Oeorge to claim. 

An" thole their blethers ! ' 

It pits'° me aye .as mad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; 



^ Served. ^ Partridge to the grountl. 
3 Stroked. 4 Whole. 

5 Hatching time. ^ ('hicks. 

7 liuckskin, an inhabitant of VirginiiU 

8 Belly. 

9 And endure their foolish talk. 
"Puts. 



FOEMS. 



Cat pe-inywoiths again is fair. 

When time's expedient : 

M jinwhile I am, respected Sir, 
Your most obedient. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN 
MAI THEW HENDERSON,' 

» GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT 

FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY 

FROM ALMIGHTY GOU. 

But now his radiant course is run, 

For Matthew's course was bright : 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 

A matchless, Heav'nly Light. 

O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 

The meikle devil wi' a woodie ^ 

Haurl thee hame to his black sniiddie,^ 

O'er hurcheon 4 hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdieS 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 
He's gane, he's gane ! he's frae us torn. 
The ae best fellow e'er was bom ! 
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel^ shall 
mourn 

By wood and wild, 
\Vhere, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 
Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns 1" 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,^ 
Where echo slumbers ! 



' The Elegy on Captain Henderson 
is a tribute to the memory of a man 
I loved much. Poets have in this the 
same advantage as Roman Catholics ; 
they can be of service to their friends 
after they have passed that bourne 
where all other kindness ceases to be 
of any avail.— T^t) Dr. Moore, (Feb. 28, 
1 701,) who remarked, in reply, that the 
chief merit of the Elegy lies in its 
lively pictures of country scenes and 
things, which none but a Scottish poet, 
and a close observer of N.ature, c^uld 
have so described. 

* Rope. 3 Smithy. * Hedgehog. 

5 Anvil. 6 Self. 

■^ Heaps of stones. * Eagles. 



Co tne join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 
My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove (he cushat' kens ! 
Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens ! 
Yeburnies, wimplin^ down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din. 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens,^ 

Frae lin to lin.-* 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea ; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bow'rs ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flow'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head, 
At ev'n, when beans their fragrance 
shed, 

r th' rustling gale, 
Ye maukinsS whiddin^ thro' the glade. 

Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather-bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; ^ 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood . 

He's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teak. 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair^ for his sake. 

Mourn, clam' ring craiks at close o' lay, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring claver gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets,^ frae your ivy bow'r. 
In some auld tree, or eldritch'" tow'r. 
What time the moon, wi" silent glow'r, 
Sets up her horn, 

* Wood-pigeoiu " Meanderinz. 

3 Plunges. ■^ Pool to pool. 

5 Hares. ^ Running. 

7 Cloud. ^ Boom. 

9 Owls. ^° Dismal 



84 



irORKS OF BURNS. 



Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 
Till waukrifei morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 

Oft have ye heard my canty - strains : 

But now, what else for me remains 
But tales of woe ; 

And frae my een the drapping rains 
Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the 

year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head. 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear 

For him that's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of 

light ! 
Mourn, Empress of the silent night I 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his 
flight. 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ! 
Like thee, where shall I find another. 

The world around ? 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait. 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae-'' best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 



1 Wakeful. 



Merry. 



One. 



I tell nae common tale o' grief, — 

For Matthew was a great man. 
If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man, 
A look of pity hither cast, — 

For Matthew was a poor man. 
If thou a noble sodger art. 

That passest by fhis grave, man, 
There moulders here a gallant heart,— 

For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies vvha weel had won thy 
praise, — 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

I'hy sympathetic tear maun fa', — 
For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 

Like the unchanging blue, man ; 
Ihis was a kinsman o' thy ain, — 

For Matthew was a true man. 
If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 

And ne'er gude wine did fear, man ; 
This was thy billie, dam, and sire, — 

For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whingin ' sot 
To blame poor Matthew dare, man; 

May d<)ol2 and sorrow be his lot, — 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF 

SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH 

OF SPRING.-' 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 
On every blooming tree, 

^ Complaining. - Mourning. 

•^ Whether it is that the story of our 
Mary, Queen of Scots, has a peculiar 
effect on the feelings of a poet, or 
whether I have, in the enclosed ballad, 
succeeded beyond my usual poetic suc- 
cess, I know not ; but it lias pleased 
me beyond any eftoit of iny muse for a 
good while past.— R. B. 



POEMS. 



And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out owre the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal 
streams, 

And glads the azure skies ; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 
Now lav" rocks ' wake the meiry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring; 
The mavis'' mild, wi" many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi" care nor ihrall opprest. 
Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

I'lie primro.se df)wn the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the sl.ae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang : 
But 1, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maim lie in jjrison Strang, 
I was the Queen o' boiuiie France, 

Where hapyjy 1 hae been, 
Fu' lightly rase 1 in the morn. 

As blylhe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sovereign of Scotland, 

And mcmy a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands. 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman. 

My sister and my fae. 
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a 

SWOi d 

That ihro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to ihee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of 
woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 
My son ! my son I may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those [jlca-ures gild thyreign, 

'Jhat ne'er w;id blink on nunc! 
God k'le]! thee fr.ie thy mother's faes. 

Or turn their hearts to thee ; 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's 
friend, 

Remember him for me ! 



Oh I soon, to me, may summer suns 

Nae mair light up th-,. morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the :.uH;mn win'ls 

Wave o'er the ydluw i;oi n ! 
And in the narrow hous;- o' lcr.th 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs, that deck tho 
spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave j 



ODE,> SACRED TO 1 HE 
MEMORY' OF .MRS. OSWALD. 

DwKLi.F.K in yon dungeon dark. 
Hangman of cieation 1 mark 



« Larks. 



» Thrush. 



* Ellisland, ALarch 23, 1789, 
The enclosed < )de is a compliment to 
the memory of the late Mrs. Oswald, 
of Auchencruive. Vou probably knew 
her personally, an honour which I can- 
not Ijoast : but I spent my early years 
in her neighbourhood, and among her 
servants and tenants. 1 know that she 
was detested with ihe most heartfelt 
cordiality. However, in the particidar 
part of her conduct wliich roused my 
poetic wrath, she was nuich less blame- 
able. In January last, on my road to 
Ayrshire, I had put up at Hailie Wig- 
ham's, in Sanquhar, the only tolerable 
inn in the place. The frost was ke«n, 
and thegrim evcningand howling wind 
were ushering in a night of snow and 
drift. My horse and I were both much 
fatigued with the labours of the day, 
and just as my friend the Hailie and I 
were bidding defiance to the storm, 
over a smoking bowl, in wheels the 
fimeral pageantry of the late great 
Mrs. — , and poor I am forced !o brave 
all the horrors of the tt-npestuous night, 
and jade my horse, my young favourite 
horse, wh(jm I had just christened 
Pegasus, twelve miles farther on, 
through the wddest muirs and hills of 
Ayrshire, to New (junuiock the next 
inn. The powers of poesy and p.-ose 
sink inider me, when I would describe 
what 1 felt. Suffice it tf say, that when 



86 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



\Vlo in widow-weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonoiir'd years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse. 
Baited with many a deadly curse ! 



STROPHE. 

*^iew the wither'd beldam's face — 

Can thy keen inspection trace 

Aught of humanity's sweet melting 
grace ? 

Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 

Pity's flood there never rose. 

See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to 
save. 

Hands that took — l)ut never gave. 

Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 

Lo, there she goes, unpitied and un- 
blest— 

She goes, but not to realms of everlast- 
ing rest ! 

ANTISTKOPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes 
(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends), 
Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither 

bends ? 
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper 

skies ; 
'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate. 
She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 



And are they of no more avail. 
Ten thousand glllt'ring poimds a 

year ? 
In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
Onini[)oieut as he is here? 
Oh, bitter inock'ry of the pompons bier. 
While down the wretched vital part is 

drivn ! 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a con- 
science clear, 
Expires in r.ig>,, unknown, and goex to 
Heav'n. 



a good fire at New Cumnock had so 
far rcco\ered my fto/en sinews, J sal 
down and wrote the ciicloMcd Ode. — 
Burns to Dr. Moore, March 23, 17S9, 



EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ.' 

When Nature her great master-piece 

design d, 
And fram'd her last, best work, the 

human mind, 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She form'd of various parts the various 

man. 
Then first she calls the useful many 

forth : 
Plain plodding industry, and sober 

worth : 
Thence peasants, fanners, native sons 

of earth, 
And merchandise' whole genus take 

their birth : 
Each prudent cit a warm existence 

finds, 
And all mechanics' m.any-apron'd kinds. 
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
1'he lead and buoy are needful to the 

net : 
The caput mortuum of gross desires 
Makes a material for n)cre knights and 

squires ; 
The martial phosphorus is taught to 

flow, 
She kneads the hmipish philosophic 

dough, 
Then marks th' unyielding mass with 

grave designs, 
Law, physic, politics, .and deep divincss: 
Last, >he sublimes \\ Aurora of the 

poles. 
The flashing elements of female souls, 
'i'hc orderd system fair before her 

stood. 
Nature, well-pleas'd, pronounc'd it very 

good ; 
But ere she gave creating labour o'ei, 
Half-jest, she try'd one curious laDoui 

moie. 
Some spumy, fiery, i^itis/atiiiism^ttcr; 
Such as the slightest breath of air might 

scatter ; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nat-.irc may have her whim as well as 

we. 



* Robert Hraham, of [-"intry, Esq 
one of the Coimnissioners of Exci&s. 



POEMS. 



87 



Hei ITo^artTi-art perhaps she meant to 

show it) 

She form*, the thing, and christens it— 
a Puet, 

Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and 
sorrow, 

When blest to-day, unmindful of to- 
morrow. 

A bein,:^ form'd t' amuse his graver 
friends, 

Admir'd and prais'd — and there the 
homage ends : 

A mortal quite unfit for Forttme's strife, 

Y:;t oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 

Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches 

Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live : 

Longing to wipe each tear, to heal 
each groan. 

Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 
But honest Nature is not quite a 
Turk, 

She lau-h'd at first, then felt for her 
poor work. 

Pitying the propless climber of man- 
kind. 

She cast about a standard tree to find ; 

And, to support his helpless woodbine- 
state, 

Attach'd him to the generous truly 
great, 

A title, and the only one I claun, 

To lay strong hold for help on bwunt'ous 
C.raham. 
Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train, 

W«;ak, timid landsmen on life's stormy 
main ! 

Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent 
stuff, 

That never gives — tho' humbly takes 
enough ; 

The little fate allows, they share as 
soon, 

Unlike sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard- 
wrung boon. 

The world were blest did bliss on them 
deiJend, 

Ah, that •* the friendly e'er shoidd want 

a friend I " 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy 

son, 
Whc life and wisdom at one race begun. 
Who feel by reason, and who give by 
rule. 



(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a 

fool I ) 
Who make poor "will do" wait upon 

" 1 >hould' — 
We own they're prudent, but who feels 

they're good? 
Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt tne so- 
cial eye ! 
God's image rudely etch'd on base 
alloy ! 

But come ye, who the godlike pleasure 
know, 

Heaven's attribute distinguished — to 
bestow ! 

Whose arms of love would grasp the 
human race : 

Come thou who giv'st with all a court- 
ier's grace ; 

Friend of my life, true patron of my 
rhymes ! 

Prop of my dearest hopes for future 
times. 

Why shrinks my soid half blushing, 
half afraid. 

Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendly 
aid? 

I know my need, I know thy giving 
hand, 

I crave thy friendship at thy kind com- 
mand ; 

But there are such who court the tune- 
ful Nine — 

Heavens ! should the branded character 



Ut rnme 



Whose verse in manhood's pride sub- 
limely flows. 
Yet vilest repl.les in their begging 

prose. 
Mark, how their lofty independent 

spirit 
Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd 

merit 1 
Seek not the proofs in private life to 

find ; 
Pity the best of word.; should be but 

wind I 
So, to heaven's gates the lark's shrill 

song .ascends. 
But grovelling on the earth the carol 

ends. 
In all the clam'rous cry of starving 

want. 
They dun benevolence with sha-ne'esf 

front ; 



Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays. 
They persect te you all your future 

days ! 
Ere my poor soul such deep damna- 
tion stain, 
My horny fist assume the plough again ; 
The piebald jacket let me patch once 

more ; 
On eighteen-pence a week I've liv'd 

before. 
Iho', tliuiiks to Heaven, I dare e'en 

that last shift ! 
I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy 

gift : 
That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd- 

for height, 
Where, man and nature fairer in her 

sight, 
My muse may imp her wing for some 

sublinier flight. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 

In all th' omnipotence of rule and 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, OF 
FINTRY, ESQ. 

Late crippld of an arm, and now a 

log. 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
Dull, listless, teasd, dejected, and de- 

prest 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest' : 
Will generous Graham list to his Poet's 

wail •'. 
(It soothes poor Miser)', heark'ning to 

her tale;, 
And hear him curse the light he first 

survcyd, 
And douhlv curse the luckless rhvming 

trader 
Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I ar- 
raign ; 
Of thy aiprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have 

fumul, 
On« shakes the forests, and one spurns 

the groui'd : 
Thou giv"st tlie asb his hide, the snail 

hi> shell. 
Th' envenonrd wasp, victorious, guards 

his cell.— 
Thy minions, kings defend, controul, 

•It'vour. . 



power. 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles en- 
sure ; 
The cit and polecat stink, and are 

secure. 
Toads with their poison, doct'.rs with 

their drug. 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes 

are snug. 
Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts. 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded 

spear an.'', darts. 
But oh I thou bitter stcp-mcther and 

hard. 
To thy p(<or, fenceless, naked child — 

the P.ard I 
A thing unte.achable in world's skill, 
And half an idiot too, more helpless 

still. 
No heels to bear him from the op'ning 

dim : 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to 

shim ; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hy- 
men worn. 
And those, alas I not Amalthea's horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry, Manmion's trusty 

cur, 
Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable 

fur: 
In n.aked feeling, and in aching pride. 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry 

side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the 

heart. 
And scorpion critics cureless venom 

dart. 
Critics — appall'd I venture on the 

name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of 

fame : 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Mon- 
roes ; — 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to 

expose. 
His heart by causeless, w-irto" m;»- 

lice wrung, 
By blockheads' daring into rn.-idness 

stung; 
His well-won baj's, than life itself more 

dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'^r one sprig 

must wear . 



POEMS, 



n 



Foit'd, bleeding tortur'd in ih' unequal 

strife. 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life. 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom 

hr"d, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once 

inspir'd, 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age. 
Dead, e\en resentment for his injur'd 

page, 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless 

critic's rage ? 
So, by siinie hedge, the generous 

steed deceas'd, 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty 

feast. 
By toil and famine wore to skin and 

bone, 
Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's 

son. 
O Dulness ! portion of the truly 

bl.-st!_ 
Calm shtlter'd haven of eternal rest ! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce 

extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid 

beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden 

cup, 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up; 
Consciuu-. the bounteous meed they 

well deserve, 
rhey only wonder "some folks'* do 

not stai ve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks 

his frog, 
And thinks ilie mallard a sad worthless 

dug. 
When disappointment snaps the clue 

of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they dark- 
ling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they 

bear, 
Ard just conchule that "fools are For- 

tmie's care." 
So, heavv, passive to the tempest's 

shocks. 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stu- 
pid ox. 
Not so the iolc Muses' mad-cap train. 
Not such the vorkings of their moon- 

sttiick S-Tiiii : 
^«» eQuanimity «ey r ever dwell. 



By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted 

hell. 
I dread thee. Fate, relentless and se- 
vere, 
With all a poet's, hu.sband's, father's 

fear ! 
Already one stronghold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like th<- sun eclips'd as noon 

appears, 
And left us dxikling in a world of 

tears :) 
Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish 

prayV ! 
Fintry, my other stay, long bless and 

spare ! 
I'hro' a long life his hopes and wishes 

crown. 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun 

go down I 
May bliss doiuestic smooth his private 

path ; 
Give energy to life ; and soothe his 

latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed 

of death ! 



LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL 
OF GLENCAIRN.' 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills, 
By fits the suns departing beam 

' " Had the wing of my fancy been 
equal to the ardour of my heart, the 
enclosed had been nuich more worthy 
your perusal : as it is, I beg leave to 
lay it .at your lad\ ship's feet. As all 
the world knows my obligati(;ns to the 
late Earl of Glencairn, i woidd wish to 
show as npeiily that my heart glows, 
and shall ever glow, with the most 
grateful sense and i>.meiubrance of hii 
lordship's goodness. '!'he sables I did 
myself the Imiiour to wear to his lord- 
ship's memory were not the 'mockery 
of woe.' Nor shall my gratitude perisn 
with me : — If, among my children, I 
shall have a son that has a heart, bs 
shall hand i' down to his child as | 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



Look'd jn the fading yellow woods 
That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding 
stream : 

Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 
Laden with years and nieikle pain, 

In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 
Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik,' 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down 
with years ; 
His locks were bleached white with 
time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 
And as he tOiich'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro" their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 
" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing. 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ve woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 
\ few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again yell charm the ear and e'e ; 
l»ut nocht " in all re\ol\ ing time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 

" I am a bending aged tree. 

That long has stood the wind and 
rain ; 
But now has come a cruel blast. 

And my 'ast hold of earth is gane : 
Nae leaf o mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae sinuner sun exalt my bloom ; 
But I maiin lie before the storm, 

And itherb^ plant them in my room. 

" I've seen sae mony changefu' years. 
On earth I am a stranger grown ; 

I wander in the ways of men, 
Alike unknowing and unknown ; 

family honour and a family debt, that 
my dearest existence I owe to the no- 
ble house of Glencairn ! I was about 
to say, my lady, that if you think the 
poem may venture to see the light, I 
would, in some way or other, give it to 
the world." — Lord Glencairn died Jan- 
uary 30, 1 791, and Hums sent the 
"Lament" to the Earls sister. Lady 
Elizabeth Cunningham, with a letter, 
of which the abose passage is an ex- 
tract. 
» Oak. » Nought. 3 Others. 



Unheard, unpitied, unrelievM, 
I bear alane my lade o' care. 

For silent, low, on beds of dust, 
Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

" And last (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

My noble master lies in clay ; 
The rtow'r amang our barons bold, 

His country's pride, his country** 
stay : 
In weary be.ing now T pine, 

For a' the life of life is dead, 
And hope has left my aged ken. 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

"Awake thy last sad voice, my harp f 

The voice of woe and wild despair! 
Awake, resound thy latest lay. 

Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

'Ihat fillest an imtimely tomb. 
Accept this tribute from the Bard 

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest* 
gloom. 

" In Poverty's low barren vale 

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me 
round ; 
Though oft I tum'd the wistful eye, 

No ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou found'st me, like the morning stua 

That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
The friendless Bard, and rustic song. 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

"Oh ! why has worth so short a date? 

While villains ripen grey with thne 
Must thou, the noble, genVous, great. 

Fall in bold manhood s hardy prime? 
Why did I live to see that day — 

A day to me so full of woe ? 
O ! had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 

" The bridegroom may forget the bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his he.id an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

J'hat smiles sae sweetly on her knee; 
But 111 remember thee, Cilcncairn, 

And a" that thou hast done for me !' 



Daike^ 



POEMS. 



9» 



LINES, SEN r TO SIR JOHN 

R^HnEFOKD.OFWHlTEFORD, 

CART./ WriH THE FOREGO- 

IXO POEM. 

Tho"J, who thy honour as thy God 

rever'sl, 
Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought 

earthly fear'st, 
To thoe this voiive off'ring I impart, 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
The Friend thou valued'st, I the Patron 

lovd ; 
His worth, his honour, all the world 

approv'd. 
We'll maurii till we too go as he has 

gone, 
A.nd tread the dreary path to that dark 

world unknown. 



TAIM O' SHANTER.^ 

A TALE. 

Crownyis and of P>ogilis full is this 
Buke. — Gawin Do/t^ias. 

Whrn chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
A.S market-days are wearing late, 
Kn folk begin to tak the gate ; 

' An early friend of Burns', who 
gratefully acknowledged his interest in 
his fate as a man, and his fame as a 
poet. 

^ This poem was written to illustrate 
a drawing of Alloway Kirk, by Cap- 
tain Cirose, in whose "Antiquities of 
Scotland " it was published. 'l"he poet 
versified the chief circiunst.ances of the 
historical story. Gill)ert lUirns speci- 
fies those of " a man riding home very 
late from Ayr in a stormy night, his 
seeing a light in Alloway Kirk, his hav- 
ing the curiosity to look in, his seeing 
a dance of witches with the Devil play- 
ing on the bagpipe to them, the 
»< anty covering of one of the witches, 
kri -ch ma-ie him so far forget himself 



While we sit bousing at the nappy,' 
An' getting fou and unco happy. 
We thinkna on the lang Scots mi'es, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles. 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gath'ring her brows like .aiath'ring 

storm. 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 
This truth fand honest lam O* 
Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night di*canter 
(Auld Ayr, whanCi ne'er a town sur- 
passes, 
For honest men and bonnie lasses^.^ 

O Tam ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou wast a 

skellum," 
A blethering, blustering, drunken ble' 

lum ^3 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was nae sober ; 
That ilka melder,-' wi" the miller. 
Thou- sat as lang as thou had filler ; 
'Ihat ev'ry naig was cad a shoe on, 
I'he smith and thee gat roaring fou or. , 
That at the Lord's house, evn on 

Sundaj', 
I'hou drank wi' KirktonS Jean till 

Monday. 
She prophesy'd that, late or soon, 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in 

Doon ; 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks 6 i' the mirk,' 
By AUoway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars megree%8 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

as to cry — ' Weel loupen, short sark ,! 
with the melancholy" catastrophe of 
the piece." 'J'he poet has given a fuller 
and racier description of the original 
scene in a letter to Grose. 

' Ale. ^ Worthless fellow. 

3 Idle talker. 

■* Every time that corn was sent to 
be ground. 

5 Kirkton is the distmctive name of a 
village in which the parish kirk stands. 

6 Wizards. ' J 'ark. 
8 Makes me weep. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Bui to our tale : Ae marlcet night, 
fam had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingli, blcezing finely, 
VVi' reaming swats/ that drank di- 
vinely ; 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, droiuhy crony ; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou Un weeks thegither. 
The night tlrave on wi' sangs and clatter ; 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
The souter- taukl his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chortis : 
The storm without might rairaiid rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 
Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy ! 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o" treasure. 
The minutes wing'd their ua>- wi' 

pleasure : 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was 

glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o life victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts forever; 
Or like the borealis race. 
That flit ere you can point their place : 
:)r like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; — 
The hour approaches 'I'am maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the 

key-stane. 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; 
And sic a night he taks the road in, 
As ne'er poor siiuier was abroad in. _ 
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its 

last; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swal- 

low'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bel- 

low'd : 
That night, a child might understand. 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
A letter never lifted leg, 



Frothing als. ' Shoemaker. 



Tam skelpit* on thro' dub and .'njrc. 
Despising wind, and rain, and tire ; 
Whiles holding fast his guile blue bctt 

net ; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scot* 

sonnet ; 
Whiles glow 'ring round wi' prudent 

cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unarsrcs ; 
Kirk Alloway w.as drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaistsand houlets nightly cry. 

V>y this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman 

smoor'd ; ~ 
And past the birks^and meiklc* stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck- 
bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd 

bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd l.ersel. 
Before him iJuon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the 

woods ; 
The lightnings fla.sh from pole to pole; 
Near and more near the thunders roll: 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning 

trees, 
Kirk .Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Ihro' ilka bore 5 the beams were glanc- 

'"S : . 

And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us 

scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae ev.l ; 
Wi' usquebae, well face the Devil ! 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's 

noddle. 
Fair play, he car d na deils a boudle. 
But Maggie stood right sair a.stonisl.'f', 
'I'ill, by the heel and hand admonish' d, 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
And, wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance : 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and 

reels. 
Put life and mettle in their heels. 

' Went at a smart par f. 'Smothered, 
3 Birches. ^ Big. 5 Uole in tue wall 



rOF.MS. 



K\. wiunocL-bunktr^ in the east, 
There sat aiild Nick, in shape o' beast; 
A towzie^ tyke, bhck, grim, and large, 
Ic gie them music was his charge : 
He screwd the pip ;s and gart^ them 

skirl,-* 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
I'hat shaw'd the dead in their last 

dresses ; 
And by some devilish cantrip S slight 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 
By which heroic 'lam was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ;6 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd 

bairns ; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
rive tomahawks, wi" blude red rusted ; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft. 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Wi" niair o' horrible and awfu', 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 
As 'iammie glowrd, amaz'd and 

curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and (juicker flew ; 
They reeld, they set, they cross'd, they 

cleekit. 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. 
And coost her duddies^ to the wark. 
And linket ^ at it in her sark ! 

Now Tam, U Tam ! had thae been 

queans 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
I'heir sarks, instead o" creeshie^ flannen. 
Been sua w- white sevenleen-hunder 

linnen ! '^ 
Thir ' ' bre-ks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' gudc blue hair, 

' Window-seat. ' Shaggy. 

3 Forced. '' Scream. 5 Alagic. 

6 Irons. ^ Clothes. 

8 I'ripped along. ^ Greasy. 

'° The manufacturing tevm for a fine 
linen, wovi^n in a reed of 1700 divisions, 
— C rame.i. '' These. 



I wad hae gi'en them off" my hurdies,* 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies 1 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags, wnd spean .a foal, 
Lowping antl flinging on acrummock,* 
I wonder didna turn thy sttunach. 
But Tam keud what was what fu* 
brawlie, 
"There \\as ae winsome wench and 

walie," 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore; 
For inony a beast to dead she shot. 
And perishd mony a bonnie l>oat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,' 
And kept the country-side in fear,) 
Her cutty* sark, o" Paisley liarn,5 
That, wliile a lassie, she had worn. 
In lungituile tho' sorely scanty, 
It was tier best, and she was vauntie.— 
Ah : little kend thy reverend grannie. 
That sark she coft^ for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her 

riches,) 
Wad ever gr.ac'd a dance of witches ! 
But here my muse her wing maun 

cour ; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; 
To sing how Nannie lap ami flaiig 
(A soiiple jade she was, and ^trang), 
And how Tain stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
And thought his very e'en enrich'd ; 
Even Satan glowr'il, and fidg'd fu' fain. 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and 

main : 
Till first ae caper, syne^ anither, 
Tam tint** his reason a' thegither. 
And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty- 

sark !" 
And in an instant all was dark ; 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,' 
When plundering herds assail their 

byke;'° 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop I she starts before their nose; 
As eager runs the market-crowd. 



* I.oins. * Short staff. 

3 Barley. ^ Shot. 

5 Very coarse linen. * Bought 

7 Then. 8 Lost. 9 Bustle. »'^ Hiv» 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



Waen, "Catch the thief!" resounds 

aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' moniean eldritch skreech and hol- 
low. 
Ah, I'am ! ah, Tarn ! thou'll get thy 
fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Rate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a wpcfu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the ke\ -stane ' of the brig; 
There at theni thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make. 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rot, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi" furious ettle ; ^ 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claughl her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 
Now, wha this taleo' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, tak heed ; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin"d. 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tam o' Shantcr"s mare. 



STANZAS 

intended to be writte.v below 
the picture of a noble eakl.3 

(written in 1787.) 

Whose is that noble, dauntless brow? 
And whose that eye of fire? 



^ It is a well-known fact, that witches, 
or any evil spirits, have no power to 
follow a poor wight any farther than 
the middle of the next running stream. 
It may be proper likewise to mention 
to the benighted traveller, that when 
he falls in with bogles, whatever danger 
may he in his going forward, there is 
much more hazard in turning back. — 
R. B. = Effort. 

- Th e Ear' ■ f Glencairn, a kind patron 



And whose that generous princely mien, 
Ev'n rooted foes admire ? 

Stranger, to justly show that brow. 

And mark that eye of fire, 
Would take his hand, whose vernal 
tints 

His other works inspire. 

Bright as a cloudless siunmer sun. 
With stately port he moves ; 

His guardian seraph eyes with awe 
The noble ward he loves. 

Among th' illustrious Scottish sons 
'Ihat chief thou niayst discern ; 

Mark Scotia's fond returning eye — 
It dwells upon Glencairn. 



ON THE LATE CAPTAIN 
GROSE'S PEREGRIN.VnONS 
THROUGH SCOTLAND, COL- 
LEC'llNG THE ANTIQUITIES 
OF THAT KINGDOM. 

He.\r, Land o' Cakes, and brithei 

Scots, 
Frae Maidcnkirk tojohnny Groat's ;— 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 
I rede you tent it : ' 
A chield's aniano; yoii. taking notes, 
And, faith, he'll prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel " w ight, 
O' stature short, but genius bright, 

1 hat's he, mark weel — 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O" cauk and keel.^ 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,* 
Or kirk deserted by its riggin. 
It's ten to ane ye'll finil him snug in 
Some eldritch part, 

of Burns. See the poet's " Lament," 
p. 89. 

' 1 advise you to look to it. 

^ Plump. ^ Chalk and red clay. 

4 Buildinsi — \'ide hi' " Antiquitief 
of Scotland" '— R. B. 



POEMS 



gs 



W deils, they say, Lord safe's '. col- 
leaguin 

At some black art. — 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or 

chamcr, 
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, 
And you dtep read in hells black 
grammar, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'U quake at his conjuring hammer, 
Ye midnight bitches. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ano wad rather fan than fled ; 
But now he's quat* the spurtle-blaJe, 

And dog-skin wallet. 
And ta'en the — Antiquarian trade, 

I thmk they call it. 

He has a fouth" o' auld nick-packets ; 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets,^ 
Wad hand the Lothians three in tack- 
ets,'* 

A towmont 5 gudc, 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-back- 
ets, 

Before the Flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld '1 ubalcain's fire-sh(jol and fender ; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O" Balaams ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye. he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, 
The cut of Adam's philibeg ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

Hell pnn'e you fully. 
It was a faulJiug jocteleg,^ 

Or lang-kail gullie.7— 

But wad ye see him in his glee — 
For meikle glee and fun has he, — 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Gude fellows wi" him ; 
And port, O port 1 shine thou a wee. 

And then yell see him ! 



\ Has quitted. ^ Plenty. 

5 Vjj.; his " Treatise on Anciei 
(Lrmour and Weapc^is." — R. B. 

■♦ Na-'s. 5 A twelvemonth. 

6 clasp-knife. 7 Large knife. 



Now, by the Pow'rs o' verse and prose I 
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose. ! — 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose. 

'Ihey sair niisca" thee ; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say. Shame fa' thee \ 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE 
LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FEL- 
LOW HAD JUST SHOT AT.' 

April, 1789. 

Inhum.\n man ! curse on thy barb'rous 
art. 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming 

eye ; 
May never pity soothe thee with a 
sigh. 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood 
and field, 
The bitter little that of life remains ; 
No more the thickening brakes and 
verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pas- 
time yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of 
wonted rest. 
No more of rest, but now thy dying 

bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er 
thy head. 
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom 
prest. 

Oft ashy winding nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerfui 
dawn. 



* I have just piu the last hand to a 
little poem, which I think will be some- 
thing 10 your taste. < )ne niorning lately 
as I was out pretty early in the fields 
sowing some grass seeds, I heard fhe 
burst of a shot from a neighbouring 
plantation, and presently a poor little 
wounded hare came crippling by me. 
— R. B. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



I'll ir.iss thee sporting o'er the dewy 
lawn, 
\nd curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn 
tliy hapless fate. 



ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF 
THOMSON, ON CROWNING 
HIS liUST AT EDNAxM, ROX- 
BURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 

Or tunes /tulian strains between : 
Wliile Summer, with a matron grace. 

Retreats to i )ryburgh s cooling shade. 
Vet oft, delighted, slops to trace 

The progress of the spiky blade : 
While Autumn, benefactor kind. 

By Tweed erects his aged liead. 
And sees, with self-approving mind. 

Each creature on his bounty fed : 
Wliile maniac Winter rages o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow 
flows. 
Rousing the turbid torrent's roar. 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of 
snows : — 

So long, sweet Poet of the year. 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well 
hast won ; 

While Scotia, with exulting tear, 
Proclaiiua that Th jn.son was her son. 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANK, A 
VERY Y()UN(i LADY; WRIT- 
TEN ON THE BLANK LEAF 
OF A BOOK PRESEN'l ED TO 
HER BY THE AUTHOR. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay. 
Blooming in thy early Nlay,' 

^ The "dear little Jeanie" of one of 
bis letters ; her father was a Master in 
Uie High School at Edinburgh. 



Never may'st thou, lovely Flov V, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' puis iious breath. 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
'I'aint thee with uiuiinciy blights! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin loaf! 
Nor even So! too fiercely view 
I'hy bosom blushing still vith dew ! 
May'st thou long, sweet ciin^sot 
gem, 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some evning, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing oaira. 
While all around the woodland rings. 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings, 
Ihou, amid the dirgeful sound. 
Shed thy dying honours round. 
And resign to parent earth 
Ihe loveliest form she ecr gave birth, 



ON READING, IN A NEWSPA- 
PER, THE DEATH OF JOHN 
M'LEOD, ESQ., BROTHER TO 
A YOUNG LADY, A PARTI- 
CULAR FRIEND OF THE Al* 
THOR. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms: 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew. 
The morning rose may blow ; 

But cold successive noontide blasts 
May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

'i he sun propitious smil'd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouiTi 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords, 
That Nature finest strung; 

So Isabella's heart was form'd. 
And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence, alone, 
Can heal tl <• ^fvund He gave ; 



POEMS. 



Can point the bnmful grief- wpm eyes 
To scenes beyond tSe j^rave. 

Virti'j"s Ijlossoins there sluill blow. 
And f'lar mo withering blast ; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happy be at last. 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF 
BRLAR WAFER* TO THE 
NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

Mv Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, 1 beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
How jaucy Phtcbus' scorching beams. 

In flamins; summer-pride, 
L»ry-witheriiig waste my foamy streams 

And drink my cry.stal tide. 
The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts. 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They'ie left the whitening stanesamang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 
Last day I grat" wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That to a Bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween. 

Even as 1 was he shor'd ^ me ; 
But had I in my glory been, 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 
Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks. 

In twisting strength 1 rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roarin o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As Nature gave tiicm me, 
I am, altho' 1 say't mysel, 
'SVorth gnun'* a mile to see. 

* Bruar Fills, in Athole, arc exceed- 
ingly picturesque and beautiful ; but 
their effect is much impaired by the 
wa.nl of trees and shrubs. — R. B. 

-■Wept. 3 0freied. 4 Going. 



Would then my noble mastet pleafc 

To grant my highest wi>hes, 
Hell shade my banks wi' towimg 
trees. 
And bonnie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks. 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tunefnl thanks. 
The sober laverock, warbling wild. 

Shall to the skies aspire : 
The gowdspink, Music s gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the Imtwhito 
clear, 
The mavis mild and mellow : 
The robin pensive .Autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow : 
This, too, a covert shall ensure, 

To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward maukin ' sleep secure. 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat. 

To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat, 

From prone-descending sliow'rs. 
And here, by sweet endearing stealth. 

Shall meet the loving pair. 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty, idle care : 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charmj 

The hour of heavn to jfrace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms. 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply too, at vernal dawn. 

Some musing bard may stray, 

And eye the smoking, dewy lawn. 

And misty mountain, grey ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 
Mild-chequering thro' the trees. 
Rave to my darkly dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 
Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 
My lowly banks u'erspread. 
And view, deep-bending in the pool, 

I'heir shadows' wat'ry bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy clifl's adorn ; 
And, for the' little song>ter's nest. 
The close embow'ring thoni. 



» Hare. 



WORKS OF BURNS 



So may Old Scotia's darling hope. 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honourd native land ! 
So niay thro' Albion's farthest ken, 

To social-flowing glasses, 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonny lasses ! " 



While titled knaves and idiot |,reatnesa 
shine 
In all the splendour Foitune can 

bestow ' 



LAMENT ON FERGUSSON.' 

(written in 1792. — INSCRirtTD BY 

THE POET ON A COPY OF .HE 

PERIODICAL CALLED "THE WORLD.") 

Ill-fated genius ! Heav'n-taught 
Fergusson ! 
What heart that feels, and will not 
yield a tear, 
To think life's sun did set, ere well begun 
To shed its influence on thy bright 
career. 

Oh, why should truest worth and genius 
pine 
Beneath the iron grasp of Want and 
Woe, 

'This was Robert Fergusson, the lyric 
poet, who was born at Edinburgh about 
1750, and died in 1774. He was buried 
in Canongate churchyard, Edinburgh, 
where his friend Burns erected a 
monument to his memory. His poems, 
written in the Scottish dialect, and 
originally published in Ruddiman's 
" Weekly Magazine," possess consider- 
able merit. His talents and conversa- 
tional powers rendered his company 
extremely attractive ; ana the excesses 
into which he was led impaired his 
constitution, and eventually rendered 
him the inmate of a lunatic asylum, 
where he diod at the early age of 
twenty-four. That Burns held him in 
gjeat esteem is evident from what he 
says in ihe picface to the first edition 
of his works: — "To the genius of a 
Ramsay or the glorious dawnings of 
the pDor unfortunate Fergusson, he, 
with equal unaffected sincerity', declares 
that, even in his highest pulse of vanity, 
♦le has not the most distant pretension." 



WHEN GUILFORD GOOD OUR 
PILOT STOOD. 

A FRAGMENT. 
TUNE — "GII.LICRANKIE." 

When Guilford good our Pilot stood, 

An' did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a pica, 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat,^ 

And in the sea did jaw," man ; 
An' did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takc», 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn. 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery like did fa', man, 
Wi" sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'inies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage 

Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 

For Philadelphia, man : 
Wi' sword an" gun he thought a sin 

Guid Christian bluid to draw, man ; 
But at New \'ork, wi" knife an" fork. 

Sir-loin he hacked sma", man. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whi^ 
Til) Fraser brave did fa", man ; 

Then lost his way, ae misty day, 
In Saratoga shaw, man. 

* Tea-pot. 

^ Jerk. The English P.nrliamenJ 
having ituposed an excise duly upon tea 
imported into North Americii, the East 
India Company sent several ships lailen 
with that article to Boston, and the 
natives went on b(.ard by force of arm* 
and emptied the cargo into the sea. 



POEMS. 



rornwallif fcught islang's he dought,* 

An' did the buckskins claw, man ; 
Bit Clinton's glaive frae rust to save. 

He hung it to the wa', man. 
Then Montague, an' Guilford too. 

Began to fear a fa', man : 
And backville doure, wha stood the 
stourc, 

The German Chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy P.urke, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie ¥o\ threw by the box, 

An' lows'd his tinkler" jaw, man. 
Then Rockingham took up the game ; 

Till death did on him ca', man : 
WhenShelburne meek held uphischeek, 

Conform to Gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, 

They did his measures thraw, man ; 
For North an' Fox united stocks, 

An' bore him to the wa', man 
Then CIuIjs an' Hearts were Charlie's 
cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race, 

Led him a sair faux pas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi" loud placads, 

On Ch itham's boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

" Up, Willie, waur them a', man !" 
Behind the throne thenGronville's gone, 

A secret wcjrd or twa, man ; 
While slee Dtmdas arous'd the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly 
graith 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man\ 
Wi kindling eyes cry'd, " Willie, rise ! 

Would I hac feard iliem a', man/" 
But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co., 

G Dwif d ^ Wiihe like a ba', man. 
Till Suihrons raise, an' coost their 
claise 

Behind him in a raw, man ; 
An' Cakdon threw by the drone, 

An' did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu* rude, thro" dirt an' bluid, 

To make il guid in law, man. 



He was able. " Tiuker. 3 Struck. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

O MEiKi.E thinks my luve o' my beauty. 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 

But little thinks my hive I ken brawlie 

My I'ocher's the jewel has charms 

for him. 

It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree; 

It's a' for the hiney he 11 cherish the 

bee : 

My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' ths 



H< 



hae luve to spare for me. 



Your proffer o' hive's an airl-penny, 
My 'I'ocher's the bargain you wad 
buy ; 
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin', 
Sae ye wi'anither your fortune mauo 
try. 
Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten 
wood, 
Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten 
tree, 
Ye'll slip frae me like aknotless thread, 
And yell crack your credit wi' mae 
nor me. 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH- 
ACHK: WRiriEN WHEN THE 
AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY 
TORMENTED BY THAT DIS- 
ORDER. 

Mv curse upon thy venom'd stang. 
That shoots my torturd gums alang ; 
And thro' my lugs ' gies luonie a iwang, 

Wi' gnawing \cngeance; 
Tearing my nerves wi' l)ilter Jiang, 

Like racking engines! 

When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rhenmatics gnaw, or cholic .squeezes; 
Our neighbours sympathy may case us 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases. 

Aye mocks our groan ! 



'Ears. 
H a 



fC 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
I kicK the wee st(K>ls o er the mickle, 
As round tlie tire the giglets ' kcckle 

'1"(> see me loup : 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle 

Were in iheir doup. 

O' a' the num'rous human dools,^ 
111 harsts. daft hargains, cutty-stools. 
Or worthy friends rak d i" the mouls,^ 

Sail sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash-* o' fools, 

'i'hou ijear"sl the gree.5 

Where'er that place be priests ca" hell. 
Whence a' the tones o' mis ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell. 

In dreadfu" raw, 6 
Thou,Tooth-ache,surely bear'st the bell 

Amang them a" ! 

O thou grim mischief making chiel, 
That gars the notes of discord squeel, 
Till daft inankmd aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick ; — 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's Tooth-ache ! 



ON THE F.IRTH OF A POST- 
HUMOUS UHILD, HORN IN 
PKCULIAR Ci KCU.MSTANCES 
OF KAMIUV DISTRESS.^ 

SwEKT flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love. 
And ward o" ujony a prayer, 

* Young girls. " Griefs. 3 Clods. 

* Care. 5 Tlie palm. 6 R,nv. 
^/' As C'>ld waters to a thirsty soul, 

so IS good news from a far country." 
Fate has long owed me a letter of good 
news from yoii, in return for the many 
ladings. if s(irn>w which I have received. 
In this instance I most cordially obey 
the Apovile— •' Rejoice with ihe'm that 
do rejoice " — for m;: to siiig^ for joy is 
nc new thing; but to p'-cack for joy, 
as I have done in the conunencement 
of this epistle, is a pilch of extravagant 
rapture to wtiich I never rose before. 
I read your letter—! literally jumped 
for joy — how could such a mercurial 



What heart o' stane wad thou na mov«^ 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair. 
November hirples ' oer the lea. 

Chill on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas ! the sheltring tree 

Shoidd shield thee frae the siorin. 
May He, who gives the rain to pour. 

And wings tlie blast to blaw. 
Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 

'Ihe bitter frost anil snaw. 
May He, the friend of woe and want, 

Who heals life's various stoimds,* 
Protect and guard the mother plant. 

And heal her cruel wounds. 
But Late she rtourish'd, rooted fast. 

Fair on the summer morn : 
Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 

Unshelter'd and forlorn. 
Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem 

Unscathd by ruflan hand \ 
And from thee many a parent stem 

Arise to deck our land. 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, 
STANDING liVTHE FALL OF 
FVERS, NEAR LUCH-NESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged 

woods 
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy 

floods. 



creature as a poet hnnpishly keep his 
seat on the receii>l of the best news 
from his best friend? I sei/ed my gilt- 
headed waniice rod, an instrument in- 
disj>cits:ibly necessar\, in my left hand 
in the moment of inspiration and rap 
ture : and stride, stride — quick antj" 
quicker — out skipped 1 ani.mg thp 
broomy banks of N'ith, to nnisc o\'er 
my Jiiy \>\ retail. Jo keep within the 
boinids of prose was impossii)!e. Mrs 
Little's is a more elegant, but not a 
more sincere Cfniplimcnt to the sweet 
little fellow than I, c.vteiiif'ore almost, 
poured out to him, in the follnwing 
ver>es." — Bl;k."""'/ij Mrs. J)milo/>,^'y>t, 
x'jfi. " Creeps. ^ Ueaxi-p;aig9> 



POEMS. 



rni full he clashes on the rocky mounds, 
VVh ;re, tiiro' a shapeless breach, his 

stream resounds. 
As high in air the bursting torrents flow. 
As deep recoiling swges foam below, 
Prone down the rock, the whitening 

sheet descends, 
And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, 

rends. 
Oim-se<:n, thro' rising mists, and cease- 
less show'r:i. 
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, 

low'rs. 
'^till, thro' the gap the struggling river 

toils, 
\nd still, below, the horrid cauldron 

boils — 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A 
BROTHER POET. 

Aui D Nkibok, 
I'm three t'mes,d()ub!y,o'er your debtor, 
For your ar'd-farrani,' frien'ly letter; 
Tho' 1 maun sayt, I doubt ye flatter, 

Ve speak sae fair. 
For my puir silly, rhymin clatter 
Some less maim sair.' 

Hale be your heart, hale be your 

fiddle : 
Lang may your elbuck^ jink and did- 
dle, 
Tae cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

( )" war'ly cares. 
Til! bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

^'oiir auld, gray hairs. 

But D.avie, lad, I'm red ye' re glaikit;"* 
I'm tauld the .Muse ye iiae nes^leckit ; 
An gif it's .sae, ve sud be licket 

L'n'td yc fyke ; 
Sic hauns as you sud neer be faiket,S 

Lie haip 1 1" wha like. 

For mc, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 
Rivin' the words lae gar them clink ; 



* Sagacious. 

• Inaite'itivft, 



- Serve. ^ Elbow. 

5 \jnknown. 6 Spared. 



Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles u-«*'J 
wi drink, 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, but aye owre late, I think 
braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the llardie clan; 
E.xcept it be some idle pkm 

O' rhymin clmk. 
The devil-haet, that 1 sud ban,' 

Ihey ever think. 

Nae thoui^ht, nae view, nae scheme 

o' livin', 
Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin' : 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in, 

An' while ought's there. 
Then hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin'. 

An' fash nae mair, 

Leeze me on rhyme !" it 's aj'e a trea- 
sure. 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure. 
At hame, a-hel", at wark, t)r leisure. 

The .Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' rapkjch^ be her measuie. 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand to the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
The warl' may play you monie a 

shavie ; 
But for the Muse, .she'll never leave ye, 

'I'ho' eer sac puir, 
Na, even tho' limpin' wi' the spavie 

Frae door ta door. 



THE INVENTORY 

IN .ANSWER TO THE ITSIT.M. M.ANDATM 
SENT BY A SINVEVOK OF IHK TA.XKS, 
REQUIKIXG A KKTfKN OF 1 HE SUM' 
BEK OK HOKSKS, SKKVANTS, CAR 
KIAGES, ETC., KEI'T. 

Sir, as your manilate did request, 
I send you here a faiihfu' list. 



* Swear. 

* A phrase of endearment. 
3 Cca:se. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



My horses, servants, carts, ard graith, 
To V. hich I'm free to tak my aith. 

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
I ha'e four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a petile ; ' 
My hand -afore,'"' a gude auld has-been, 
Ail' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been ; 
My hand-ahin,3 a weel gaun fi.lie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae 

Killie,-» 
An' your auld borough mony a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ance, whan in my wooing pride, 
I, like a blockhead, boost to ride, 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
(Lord, pardon a' my sins, an" that too ! ) 
I played my fillie sic a shavie, 
She's a' bedevild wi' the spavie. 
My fur-ahin5 's a gude, grey beast. 
As e'er in lug or tow was trac'd, — 
The fourth, a Highland Donald hastie, 
A d — d red-wud, Kilburnie blastie ; 
Foreby a Cowte, o" Cowtes the wale. 
As ever ran afore a tail ; 
If he be spiir'd to be a beast. 
Hell draw me fifteen pund at least. — 

■Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, 
Three carts, an" twa are feckly new ; 
Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken ; 
I made a poker o" the spindle. 
An' my auld mither bnmt the trindle. 
For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run-de'ils for rantin' an' for noise ; 
A gautlsman 6 ;ine, a thrasher t' other, 
Wee Davoc hands the nowte in fother.7 
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly. 
An' aften labour them completely. 
An' ay on .Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the questions targe them tightly ; 
Till faith, wee Davocs turn'd sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 



^ Plough-staff. 

* The fore-horse on the left-hand in 
Ihe plough.— K. H. 

3 Tile hindmost on the left-hand in 
the plough. — K. H. 

4 Kilmarnock.— R. B. 

5 'Ihe hindmo^t horse on the right- 
hand nt the plough. — K. B. 

6 Plough-driver. 

' Black cattle in fodder. 



He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. — 

I've nane in female servan" station, 
(Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation !) 
I ha'e nae wife ; and that my bliss is, 
An' ye hae laid nae tax on mi.sses ; 
An' then if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils darena touch me. 
Wi' weans I'm miir than weel con- 
tented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted. 
My sonsle, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddy in her fuce, 
Enough of ought ye like but grace. 
But her, my bonny sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough tor her already, 
An' gin ye ta.\ her or her mither, 
B' the L — d ! ye'se get them a' thegi- 
ther. 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out Vn\ takin' ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I 11 paidle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot MI shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit !- • 
The Kirk an" you may tak" you that. 
It puts but little in your pat ; ' 
Sae dinna put me in your biike. 
Nor for my ten white shillings hike. 

This list wi' my ain hun' I wrote it. 
Day an' date as under notit : 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscripsi huic, 

Robert Burns. 

Mossgiel, Fehriiary ■z'znd, 1786. 



THE WHISTLE.* 

A BAl.l-AD. 

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the 
North, 

» Pot. 

^ " The highest gentry of the coun- 
ty," writes Mr. J. C'>. I.ockhart, "'when- 
ever ihcy had especial merriment ^n 



POEMS 



loj 



W^^.s "Lroiighf to the court of our good 
Scottisii king, 

And long with this Whistle all Scot- 
land shall ring. 



view, C died in the wit and eloquence 
oi Burns to enliven their carousals. The 
{hmous song of ' The Whistle of Worth' 
commemorates a scene of this kind, more 
picturesque in seme of its circumstances 
than every day occurred, yet strictly 
in character with the usual tenor of 
life among this jovial squirearchy. 
1'liese gcntleuicn, of ancient descent, 
had met to determine, by a solemn 
drinking match, who should possess 
the Whistle, which a common ancestor 
of them all had earned ages before in 
a Bacchanalian contest of the same 
sort with a noble toper from Den- 
mark ; and the poet was summoned to 
watch over and celebrate the issue of 
the debate." The following is Burns' 
description of the prize and the struggle. 
He seems, however, to have failen into 
some error as to the date : — " As the 
authentic prose history of the Whistle 
is curious, I shall here give it.— In the 
train of Anne of Denmark, when she 
came to Scotland with our James the 
Sixth, there came over also a Danish 
gentleman of gigantic stature and great 
prowess, and a matchless champion of 
Bacchus. He had a little ebony 
Whistle, which at the commencement 
of the orgies he laid on the table, 
and whoever was last able to blow it, 
everybody else being disabled by the 
potency of the bottle, was to carry off 
the Whistle as a trophy of victory. 
The Dane produced crede Mials of his 
victories, without a single defeat, at 
the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, 
Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the 
petty courts in Germany ; and chal- 
lenged the Soots Bacchanalians to the 
alternative of trying his prowess, or 
else of acknowledging their inferiority, 
— After many overthrows on the part 
of the Scots, the Dane was encountered 
by Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, 
ancfistor of the present worthy Baronet 
»f th It name, who, after three days and 



Old Loda,' still rueing the arm ol 

Fmgal, 
I'he god of the bottle sends down fmn-. 

his hall— 
" This Whistle's your challenge, in 

Scotland get o'er. 
And drink them to hell, Sir, or ne'er 

see me more !" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles 
tell. 

What champions ventur'd, what cham- 
pions fell ; 

The son of great Loda was conqueror 
still. 

And blew on the Whistle his requiem 
shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and 

the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle ; unconquer'd 

in war. 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as 

the sea. 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than 

he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has 

gain'd. 
Which now in his house has for ages 

remain'd ; 



three nights' hard contest, left the 
Scandinavian under the table, 

* And blew on the Whistle his re- 
quiem shrill.' 

" Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert, be- 
fore mentioned, afterwards lost the 
Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, 
who had married a sister of Sir Walter. 
On Friday, the i6th October, 1790, at 
Friars-Carse, the Whistle was once 
more contended for, as related in the 
ballad, by the present Sir Robert 
Lowrie of Maxwelton ; Robert Riddel, 
Esq., of Glenriddel, lineal descendant 
and representative of Walter Riddel, 
who won the Whistle, and in whose 
family it had continued ; and Alexander 
Ferguson, Esq., of Craigdarroch, like 
wise descended of the great Sir Robert, 
which last gentleman carried off the 
hard-won honours of the field." 

' See Ossian's " Caric-thura." — R. R 



I04 



WORKS OF BURXS. 



J'iil three noble chieftains, and all of 

his blood. 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts 

clear of flaw : 
Craig larroch so famous for wit, worth, 

and law : 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old 

coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in 

old wines. 

Craigdarroch began with a tongue 

smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the 

spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of 

the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which 

was the man. 

" By the gods of the ancients !" Glen- 
riddel replies, 

" Before I siu-render so glorious a 
prize, 

I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rc- 
rie More, 

And bumper his horn with him twenty 
times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would 

pretend. 
But he ne'er tum'd his back on his foe — 

or his friend. 
Said, tcss down the Whistle, the prize 

of the field, 
And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere 

he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes 

repair, 
So noted for drowning of sorrow and 

care ; 
But for wine and for welcome not more 

known to fame. 
Than the sense, wit, and taste of a 

sweet lovely dame. 

A bard was selected to witness the fray. 
And tell future ages the feats of the 
day; 



» See Johnsoji's " Tour to the He- 
ktides."— R. B. 



A bard who detested all sadnesi iuA 

spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard 

had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they 

ply, 

And ev'ry new cork is a new spring ol 

joy, 
In the bands of old frien ship and 

kindred so set. 
And the bands grew the tighter the 

more they were wet. 

Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran 
o'er ; 

Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joy- 
ous a core. 

And vow'd that to leave them he was 
quite forlorn. 

Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next 
morn. 

Six bottles a- piece had wel wrre out 

the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to fir. sh the 

fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bum er a bjtilc ol 

red, 
\nd 3wore 'twas the way that tln;ir 

ancestors did. 

The»i worthy Glenriddel, so cautious 

and sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodlj', would 

^\ ^ge ; 
A high-n Ung elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left tht foul business to folks less 

divinr. 

The gallant S'l Robert fought hard to 

the enu 
But who can vith Fate and quart 

bumpers co.itend '. 
Though Faie saic? a hero sh uld perish 

in light ; 
So uprose bright Fhoelus — and down 

fell the knighv. 

Next uprose our bard like a prophet 

in drink : — 
" Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when cie 

ation shall sink ! 
But if thou would flourisJ* imm rtal iq 

rhyme. 
Come — one bottle more- a\i^ av» u 

the sublime ! 



POEMS. 



lOJ 



•"n>3 line, thai have struggled for 

Freedom with Ikuce, 
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
So thine be the laurel, and mine be the 

bay ; , • u 

Vhe field thou hast wiw, by yon bnght 

god of day !" 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 

Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1789- 
Wow,^ but your letter made me vaun- 

And are ye hale, and weel, and cairtie ? 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye, 

And then ye 11 do. 
The ill-thief blaw the Heron ^ south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tald mysel by word o' mouth. 

He'd tak my letter; 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth. 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
lo ware his theologic care on. 

And holy study ; 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear 3 on. 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier.'J 
I'm turn'd a ganger— Peace be here ! 
Parnassian queans, I fear, I. fear 

Ye'll now disdain me ! 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ve glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha, by Castalia's wimpUn' streamies, 
lowp, sing, and lave your pretty 
limbies. 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o men. 

' Ai. exclamation of pleasure. 
' Robert Heron, who wrote a His- 
Mry of Scotla;id, and a Life of Bums. 
3 Learning ^ Brother. 



I hae a wife and *wa wee lad.Ues. 
They maun hae brose and brats of 

duddies ; ^ 
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud 
is— 

I need na vaunt 
But I'll sned^ besoms— thraw sangh 
woodies,3 

Before they want. 

Lord, help me thro' this warld o' care 1 
I'm weary sick o't late and air ! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than monie ithers ; 
But why should ae man better fare. 

And a' men brithersT 
Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van— 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp-* in man ! 
And bt us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair ; 
Wha does the utmost that he can, ^ 

Will whyles the mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme 

(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o time). 

To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wife. 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 
My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat she is a dainty chuckie, 

As e'er tread clay ! 
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 

I'm yours for ay, 
Robert Burns. 



PROLOGUE, SPOKEN AT THE 
THEATRE, ELLISLAND.S 

No song nor dance I bring from yon 
great city , 

That queens i t o'er our taste — the more s 
the pity ; 



Lop. 



^ Rags of clothes. 

3 Twist willow ropes. 

4 The male, or stronger stalk of hemp. 

5 We have gotten a set of very decent 
players here just now. I have seea 
them an evening or two. DaviJ 



io6 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Tho', 'by-the-by abroad why will you 
roam? 

Good sense and taste are natives here 
at home : 

But not for panegyric I appear, 

I come to wish you all a good new- 
year ! 

Old Father Time deputes me here be- 
fore ye, 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple 
story : 

The sage grave ancient cough'd, and 
bade me say, 

" You're one year older this important 
day." 

If wissr too — he hinted some sugges- 
tion. 

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask 
the question ; 

And with a would-be roguish leer and 
wink, 

lie bade me on you press this one word 
— "think!" 
Ye sprightly youths, quite flush'd 
with hope and spirit, 

^Vho think to storm the world by dint 
of merit. 

To you the dotard has a deal to say, 

In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb 
way ; 

He bids you mind, amid your thought- 
less rattle, 

That the first blow is ever half the 
battle ; 

That tho' some by the skirt may try to 
snatch him. 

Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch 
him ; 

That whether doing, suffering, or for- 
bearing. 

You may do miracles by persevering. 
Last, tho' not least in love, ye youth- 
ful fair, 

<Vngelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar 
care ! 



Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by the 
manager of the company, a Mr. 
Southerland, who is a mac >f apparent 
worth. On Nc-w-year-da> evening I 
gave him the following Prologue, which 
he spojted to his audience with ap- 
plause.— R. 13. 



To you old Bald-pate smooths J»»f 

wrinkled brow. 

And humbly begs you'll mind the im- 
portant now ! 

To crown your happiness he asks your 
leave, 

And offers bliss to give and to receive. 
For our sincere, tho' haply weak, en- 
deavours. 

With grateful pride we own yourmiiny 
favours ; 

And howsoe'er our tongues may ill 
reveal it. 

Believe ourglowing bosoms truly feel it. 



ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS 
BURNET, OF MONBODDO. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 
Nor envious death so triumph'd in a 

blow, 
As that which laid th' accomplish'd 

Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I 

forget ? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set ! 
In thee, high Heaven above was truest 

shown. 
As by his noblest work the Godhead 

best is known. 

In vain, ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye 
groves ; 
Thou crystal streamlet with thy 
flowery shore. 
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle 
loves. 
Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with ret dy 

fens ; 
Ye mossy streams^ with sedge and. 
rushes stor'd ; 
Ye rugged cliffs o'erhanging dreary 
glens. 
To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes, whose cumbrous pride tfas all 
their worth. 
Shall venal lays their pompous jxit 
hail? 



POEMS. 



»oi 



And thou, sweet excsl.e.ice ! forsake 
our earth. 
And not a Muse in honest grief be- 
wail? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's 

pride, 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond 

the spheres ; 
But, like the sun eclips'd at morning 

tide, 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of 

tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in 
thee. 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief 
and care ; 
So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged 
tree ; 
So, from it ravish' d, leaves it bleak 
and bare. 



LINES 
TO A MEDICAL FRIEND,^ 

INVITING HIM TO ATTEND AN ANNUAL 
MASONIC MEETING.^ 

Friday first's the day appointed, 
V>y our right worshipful anointed, 

To hold our grand procession ; 
To get a blade o' Johnny's morals, 
And taste a swatch 3 o' Manson's"* 
barrels, 

I' the way of our profession. 

Our Master and the Brotherhood 

Wad a" be glad to see you ; 
Ft me, I would be mair than proud 
To share the mercies wi' you. 
If death, then, wi' skaith, then, 

Some mortal heart is hetchin,S 
Inform him, and storm him, 
That Saturday ye'Ufecht^ him. 

ROBEKT BUKNS. 

* Mr. Mackenzie. 

' Th*t Saint James's Masonic Lodge 
at Mat.chline. 3 Sample. 

4 The name of a landlord, at whose 
house the Masonic Lodge assembled. 

5 Threatening. 6 Fight, 



LINES ON AN INTERVIEW 
WITH LORD DAER.^ 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er to be forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprackled^ up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 
I've been at drucken writers' feasts. 
Nay, been bitch-fou' mang godly priests 

(Wi' rev'rence be il spokenj ; 
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum. 
When mighty Squireships of the quo- 
rum, 

Their hydra drouth did sloken 
But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin, 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son. 

Up higher yet, my bonnet ! 
And sic a Lord— lang Scotch ells twa. 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a'. 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 
But, oh ! for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glcw'r,3 

And how he stard and stammer' d. 
When goavan,-*as if led wi' branks,5 
An stumpan on his ploughman shankis, 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 
I sidling shelter'd in a nook. 
An' at his Lordship steal't a look. 

Like some portentous omen ; 
Except good sense and social glf.e. 
An' (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the great. 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his lordship I shall learn. 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 
One rank as weel's another ; 



* Son of the Earl of Selkirk. Burnt 
was introduced to him by DugaW 
Stewart. 

^ Clambered. 3 Frightened sure 

4 Walking with stupid wonder. 

5 A curb bridle. 



io8 



W^ORRS OF BURNS. 



Nae hcnest worthy man need care 
To meet with noble, youthful Daer^ 
For he but meets a brother. 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 

PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MISS FONTE- 
NELLE ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT. 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty 
things, 

The fate of Empires and the fall of 
Kings ; 

While quacks of State must each pro- 
duce his plan, 

Aud even children lisp The Rights of 
Man ; 

Amid the mighty fuss, just let me men- 
tion, 

The Rights of Woman merit some 
attention. 
First, in the Sexes' intermixed con- 
nexion, 

One sacred Right of Woman is, Pro- 
tection. — 

The tender flower that lifts its head, 
elate. 

Helpless, must fall before the blasts of 
Fate, 

Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely 
form, 

Unless your shelter ward th' impend- 
ing storm. 
Our second Right — but needless here 
is caution, 

To keep that Right inviolate's the 
fashion, 

Each man of sense has it so full before 
him. 

He'd die before he'd wrong it — 'tis De- 
corum. 

There was, indeed, in far less polish'd 
days, 

A time, when rough rude man had 
naughty ways ; 

Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick 
up a riot. 

Nay, even thus invade a Lady's quiet ! — 

Now, thank our stars ! those Gothic 
times are fled : 



Now, well-bred men — and you are *11 

well-bred ! 

Most justly think (and we are much the 
gainers) 

Such conduct, neither spirit, wit, not 
manners. 
For Right the third, our last, our 
best, our dearest. 

That Right to fluttering female hearts 
the nearest, 

Which ev'n the Rights of Kings in low 
prostration 

Most humbly oviru — 'tis dear, dear Ad 
miration ! 

In that blest sphere alone we live and 
move ; 

There taste that life of life — immortal 
Love. — 

Sighs, tears, smiles, glances, fits, flirta- 
tions, airs, 

'Gainst such an host what flinty savage 
dares — 

When awful Beauty joins with all her 
charms. 

Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 
Then truce with kings, and truce with 
constitutions. 

With bloody armaments and revolu- 
tions ! 

Let Majesty your first attention sum- 
mon. 

Ah ! ga ira ! The Majesty of Womam 1 



ADDRESS, 

SPOKEN BY MISS FOWTENELLE, ON 

HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, DECEMDER 

4, 1795, AT TK2 THEATRE, 

DUMFRIES. 

Still anxious to secure your partial 

favour. 
And not less anxious, siu-e, this night, 

than ever, 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such 

matter, 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing 

better; 
So sought a poet, roosted near the skies, 
I'old him I came to feast my curioiu 

eyes ; 



POEMS. 



Said, nothing like his works was ever 

printed , 
And last, my Prologue-business slily 

hinted. 
" Mh'am, let me tell you," quoth my 

man of rhymes, 
" I know your bent — these are no 

laughing times ; 
Can you— but, Miss, I own I have my 

fears — 
Dissolve in pause, — and sentimental 

tears, 
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded 

sentence, 
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell 

Repetitaiice ; 
i*aint Vengeance, as he takes his horrid 

stand, 
Waving on high the desolating brand, 
Calling the >ii)nns to bear hira o'er a 

guilty land':'" 
I could no more — askance the crea- 
ture eyeing, 
D'ye think, said I, this face was made 

for crying ? 
I'll laugh, that's poz— nay, more, the 

world shall know it ; 
And so, vour servant ! gloomy Master 

Poet' ! 
Firm as my creed. Sirs, 'tis my fix'd 

belief, 
That Rlisery's another word for 

Grief; 
1 also think— so may I be a bride ' 
Ihal so much laughter, so much rife 

enjoy'd. 
Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless 

sigh, 
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting 

eye ; 
Uoom'd to that sorest task of man 

alive — 
To make three guineas do the work of 

five : 
Laugh in misfortune's face — the beldam 

witch .' 
fey, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be 

rich. 
1 hcu othei man of care, the wretch in 

love, 
Who long with jiltish hearts and airs 

hist strove ; 
Wno, as the boughs all temptingly pro- 
ject. 



Measur'st in desperate thought — a rop* 

— thy neck — 
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs 

the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 
Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, 

moping elf V 
Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at 

thyself : 
Learn to despise those fro^vns now so 

terrific, 
And love a kinder — that's your grana 

specific. 
To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 
And as we're merry, may we still be 

wise. 



STANZAS 



ADDRESSED TO MISS FERRIER," IN- 
CLOSING AN ELEGY ON SIR JAMES 
HUNTER Pl.AIR.* 

(written in 1787.) 

Nae heathen name shall I prefix 

Frae Pindus or Parnassus ; 
Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks. 

For rhyme-inspiring lasses. 

Jove's tunefu' dochters three times 
three 

Made Homer deep their debtor ; 
But, gien the body half an ee. 

Nine Ferriers wad done better ! 

Last day my mind was in a bog, 
Down George's Street I stoited,' 

A creeping, cauld, prosaic fog 
My very senses doited. '* 

Do what I dought to set her free. 

My saul lay in the mire ; 
Ye turned a neukS — I saw your ee— 

She took the wiag like fire ! 



^ The accomplished noyellist, and 
daughter of Mr. J. Ferrier, one of 
Burns' warmest patrons. 

^ A great friend and patron of th« 
poet. 

3 Tottered. * Stupefied. 5 Comer. 



WOKKS OF BURNS. 



The moumfu' sang I here inclose, 

In gratitude I send you ; 
A ad wish and pray in rhyme sincere, 

A' guid things may attend you. 



VERSES ID A YOUNG LADY,^ 

WITH A PRESENT OF SONGS. 

Here, where the Scottish Muse im- 
mortal lives, 
In sacred strains and tuneful num- 
bers join'd, 
Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who 
gives. 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful 
mind. 

So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast 
D.NCiirdant jar thy bosom-chords 
among ! 
But Peace attune thy gentle soul to 
rest. 
Or 1-ove, ecstatic, wake his seraph 
song; 

I)r Pity's notes, in luxury of tears. 
As modest Want the tale of woe re- 
veals ; 
IMiile conscious Virtue all the strain 
endears, 
And heaven-born Piety her sanction 
seals ! 



POEM 
ON PASTORAL POETRY.^ 

H AIL, Poesie ! thou Nymph reserv'd ! 3 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae 

swerv'd 
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 
'Mang heaps o' clavers ; 
And och ! owre aft thy joes hae starv'd, 
'Mid a' thy favours ! 

* Daughterof Mr.Graham, of Fintry. 

' Gilbert Bums doubted the authen- 
ticity of these verses, but surely with- 
out reason. 3 Collins. 



Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 
While loud the trump's heroic clang 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

I'o death or marriag j ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd ianj[ 

But wi' miscarriage? 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives : 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives ; 
Wee Pope, the knurhn,' till him ri-ves 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Ev'n Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro'a 

catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks ^ his skinkhn' 
patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by bunders, nameless wretches. 
That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and lear. 

Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 

Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

"V'es ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan — 
There's ane ; comeforrit, honest Allan ! 
Thou need na jouk"* behint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o' 1 ime may gnaw Tantal- 
lan,S 

But thou's for ever ! 

Thou paints aidd Nature to the nines. 
In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 
Nae gowden streanx thro' myrtles 
twines. 

Where Philomel, 
Wliile nightly breezes sweep the vines, 
Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens ^ thy burnie strays. 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes' 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 
W^i' hawthorns grey. 



^ Dwarf. ^ Dresses. 

3 Small. 4 Stoop. 

5 'J'he name of a castle. 

6 Daisied dales. 



POEMS 



Where blackl)irclj join the shepherd's 
lays 

At close o' day. 

Tliy rural loves are nature's sel'; 
Nae bombast spates ' o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

O' witchin' love ; 
That charm thac can the strongest 
quell. 

The sternest move. 



WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF 
THE 

LAST EDITION OF HIS POEMS, 

PRESENTED TO THE LADY WHOM 

HE HAD OFTEN CELEBRATED UNDER 

THE NAME OF CHLORIS.^ 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young 
fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse. 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 
Since thou, in all thy youth and 
charms. 

Must bid the worJd adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 
Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower, 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer Hower.) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no 
more. 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 
Thine is the self-approving glow. 

On conscious honour's part ; 
And, dearest gift of Heaven below. 

Thine friendship's truest heart. 
The joys refin'd of sense and taste. 

With ev'ry muse to rove : 
And doubly were the poet blest, 

These joys could he improve. 



Torrents. 



Jean Lorimei. 



POETICAL ADDREiS 
TO MR. WILLIAM TYTIER, 

WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BAKlVs 
PICTURE. 

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 
Of Stuart, a name once respected, 

A name, which to love was the n.aik 
of a true heart. 
But now 'tis despis'd and neglected ! 

Tho*son7ethinglike moisture conglobes 
in my eye, 
Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wand'rer may well 
claim a sigh. 
Still more, if that wand'rer were 
royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on 
a throne ; 
My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their de- 
generate son ; 
That name should he scoffingly 
slight it. 

Still in prayers for King George I most 
heartily join, 
The Queen, and the rest of the 
gentry ; 
Be they wise, be they foolish, is no- 
thing of mine ; 
Their title's avow'd by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a 
fuss. 

That gave us the Hanover stem ? 
If bringing them over was lucky for us, 

I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. 

But, loyalty, truce ! we're on dangerous 
ground, 
Who knows how the fashions may 
alter? 
The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty 
sound. 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a he id of a ba~d, 
A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 

But accept it, good Sii, as a mark <( 
regard, 
Sincere as a saint's dying p.-ayer 



iVORKS OF BURNS. 



Now life's chilly evening dim shades 

in your eye. 

And ushers the long dreary night ; 

But you like the star that athwart gilds 

the sky, 

Your com-se to the latest is bright. 



SKETCH.— NEW-YEAR DAY. 

TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

This day Time winds th' exhausted 

chain, 
To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
1 see the old, bald-pated fellow. 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir, 
In vain assail them with their prayer. 
Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press. 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Majors ' with the hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's ^ care to-day, 
And blooming Keith's ^ engaged with 

Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute bor- 
row — 
— That grandchild's cap will make to- 
morrow — 
And join with me a-moralizing ; 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver? 
"Another year is gone for ever." 
And what is this day's strong sugges- 
tion ? 
'' The passing moment's all we rest on !" 
Rest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
Or why regard the passing year ? 
Will Time, amus'd with pro verb'd lore. 
Add to our date one minute more? 
A fe»v days may, a few years must. 
Repose us in the silent dust ; 



* Major, afterwards General Andrew 
Dunlop, second son of Mrs. Dunlop. 

^ Miss Rachel Dunlop. 

3 Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest 
iaiighter. 



Then is it wise to damp our bliss f 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ' 
The voice of Nature loudly cries, 
And many a message ffom the skies 
That something in us never dies ; 
That on this frail, uncertain state 
Hang matters of eternal weight; 
That future life in worlds unknown 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as Heavenly' glory bright. 
Or dark as Misery's woful night. — 

Since then, my honour'd, first ai 
friends, 
On this poor being all depends ; 
Let us th' important Now employ. 
And live as those that never die. 

Tho' you, with days and hon' an 
crown'd, 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse ; 
A sight pale Envy to convulse ;) 
Others now claim your chief regard ; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward 



EXTEMPORE, 
ON MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, 

AUTHOR OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF 

NATURAL HISTORY, AND MEMBER OF 

THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL 

SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH. 

Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan * 
came. 

The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout 
the same ; 

His bristling beard just rising in its 
might. ; 

'Twas four long nights and days to 
shaving night ; 

His uncomb'd grizzly locks, wild star- 
ing, thatch'd 

A head, for thought profound and 
clear, unmatch'd : 

* There was a club in Edinburgh— 
the Crochallan Fencibles — of which 
Bums and Smellie were members. 



POEMS. 



i«i 



^rt J. o" his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
f lis heart was warm, benevolent, and 
good. 



INSCRIPTION FOR AN 

ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, 

AT KERROUGHTRY, SEAT 

OF MR. HERON : 

VKITTEN IN SUMMER, 1795. 

Thou of an independent mind, 

With soul resolv'd, with soul resign d : 

Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to 

brave, ^ 

Who wilt not be nor have a s.ave ; 
Virtue alone who dost revere, 
Thj' own reproach alone dost fear, 
Approach this shrine, and worship here. 



MONOD\ ON A LADY FAMED 
FOR HER CAPRICE.* 

How cold is that bosom which folly 
once fir'd ; 
How pale is that cheek where the 
rouge lately glisten'd ! 
How silent that tongue which the 
echoes oft tir'd ; 
How dull is that ear which to flattery 
so listen'd ! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await. 
From /-iendship and dearest affec- 
tion remov'd ; 
How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate ! 
Tl ou diedst unwept, as thou livedst 
unlov'd. 

V/OV'i, Graces and Virtues, I call not 
on you ; 
Sc shy, grave, and distant, ye shed 
not a tear : 



' The lady was the Mrs. Riddel, whose 
i;anie so often occurs in the Poet's 



But come, all ye offspring of FoUy so 
true. 
And flowers let us cull for Eluas 
cold bier. 
We'll search thro' the garden for each 
silly flower. 
We'll roam thro' the forest for each 
idle weed ; 
But chiefly the nettle.so typical, shower, 
For none e'erapproach'd her but ruet 
the rash deed. 
We'll sculpture the marble, we'll mea- 
sure the lay ; 
Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on 
her prey, 
Which spurning Contempt shall re- 
deem from his ire. 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here lies, now a prey to insulting neg- 
lect, 
What once was a butterfly, gay in 
hfe's beam : 
Want only of wisdom denied her re- 
spect ! ... 1. 
Want only of goodness denied her 
esteem. 



history. 



SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF 
ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ., OF 
GLENRIDDEL; 

APRIL, 1794. 

No more, ye warblers of the wood — no 
more ! 
Nor pour your descant, grating, on 

my soul ; , 

Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy 
verdant stole, 
More welcome were to mo grim Win- 
ter's wildest roar. 
How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all 
your dves? 
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my 

friend : 
How can I to the tuneful strain at- 
tend ? 
The strain flows round th' untipieJ^f 
tomb where Riddel Ues. 



Ves, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes 
of woe ! 
And soothe the Virtues weeping on 

this bier : 
The Man of Worth, who has not 
left his peer, 
Is in his " narrow house " for ever 
darkly low. 

Thee- Spring, again with joy i.hall 

others greet ; 
ilt\ mem'ry of my loss wiU only meet. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



IMPROMPIU, ON 
MRS. RIDDEL'S BIRTH-DAY, 

NOVEMBER 4,- I793. 

Old Winter, with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred — 
What have I done, of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow ; 
My dismal months no joys are crown- 

But spleeny English, hanging, drown- 
ing. 
Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil. 
To couaterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I've no more to say, 
Give me Maria's natal day ! 
That brilliant gift will so enrich me. 
Spring, Summer, Autunm, cannot 

match me. 
Tisdone! says Jove; so ends my story. 
And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



TO MISS JESSY LEWARS, 
DUMFRIES, 

WITH BOOKS WHICH THE BARD 
PRESENTED HER. 

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair. 
And with them take the Poet's prayer — 
1 hat Fate may in her fairest page. 
With every kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name ; 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 



And wakeful caution still awtre 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare ; 
All blameless joys on earth we find. 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friand, the BarA 



EXTEMPORE TO MR. SY^[E, 

ON REFUSING TO DINE WITH IIIM, 

AFTER HAVING BEEN PROMISED TH< 

FIRST OF COMi'ANY AND THE 

FIRST OF COOKERY. 

DECEMBER 17TH, 1 795. 

No more of your guests, be they titled 
or not. 
And cook'ry the first in the nation ; 
Who is proof to thy personal converse 
and wit, 
Is proof to all other temptation. 



TO MR. SYME, 



PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF 
PORTER. 



O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind, 
Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 

'I'were drink for first of human kind, 
A gift that e'en for Syme were fit. 

jfirttsalem Tavern, Dumfries. 



SONNET, 

ON HEARING A THRUSH SING 

IN A MORNING WALK; 

WRITTEN JANUARY 25TH, 1 793, THB 

BIRTH-DAY OF THE AUTHOR," R. B., 

AGED 34. 

Sing on, sweet Thrush, upon the leaf- 
less bough ; 
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy 

strain : 
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 
At thy blithe carol clears Ids .'urrow'd 
brow. 



POEMS. 



*»J 



So in lone Poverty's dominion drear 
Sits meek Content with light unanx- 

ious n^^art, 
Welcomes the r-»pid moments, bids 
them part, 
Nor asks if they bnn^ -lught to hope 
or fear, 

I thank thee, Author of this opening 
day ! 
Thou whose bri5;ht sim now gilds 

the orient skios ! 
Riches denied, thy boon was purer 
joys. 
What wealth could never give, nor take 
away ! 

Yet come, thou child of poverty and 

care ; 
The mite high Heav'n bestow'd, that 

mite with thee Fll share. 



POEM, ADDRESSED TO MR. 
MITCHELL, 

COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 
1796. 

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 
Alake, alake, the meikle Deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpin ! jig and reel. 

In my poor pouches. 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it : 
If wi' the hiz/ie down ye sent it, 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood 
dunted,' 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

'I he hale design. 



POSTSCRIPT. 



Ye've heard this while how I've b-;ec 

licket. 
And by fell Death was nearly nicket : 
Grim loun ! he gat me by tjie fecket,* 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

And turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share o't, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair c't, 
My heal and weal I'll take a care o't 

A tentier^ way : 
Then fareweel follv, hide and hair o'^ 

For ance and aye. 



Beat. 



SENT TO A GENTLEMAN 
WHOM HE HAD OFFENI>£D. 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's 
way 
The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 
(Not moony madness more astray ;) 
Who but deplores that hapless 
friend ? 

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part, 
Ah why should I such scenes outlive I 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



POEM ON LIFE, ADDRESSED 
TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER ;« 
DUMFRIES, 1796. 

Mv honoui'd Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in ihe Putt's weal ; 
Ai» ! liOW sm-A heart hae I to sped* 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bohis pill. 

And potion glasses 



* Vaistcoat. » Wiser. 

' Colonel of the Dumfries 'Volmi' 
teers. "* Cii^ib. 



ti6 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



O what a canty warld were it, 
Would pain, and care, and sickness 

spare it ; 
And fortune favour worth and merit, 

As they deserve : 
(Andayearowth,' roast beef ind claret; 

Syne, wha wad starve ?) 
Dame Life, though fiction out may trick 

her, 
And in paste gems and fripp'ry deck her ; 
Oh ! flick'ring, feeble, and unsicker^ 

I"ve found her still. 
Aye wav'ring like the willow wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 
Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons 3 by a rattan,-* 
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut 5 on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'U ne'er cast 
saut on, — 

He's aflf like fire. 
Ah Nick ! ah Nick ! it is na fair. 
First showing us the tempting ware. 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft ; 
Syne^ weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O' hell's d— d waft.7 

Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by. 

And aft, a.s chance he comes thee nigh. 

Thy auld d — d elbow yeuks with joy. 

And hellish pleasure ; 
Already, in thy fancy's eye. 

Thy sicker 8 treasure. 

Soon, heels-o'er-gowdy ! 9 in he gangs. 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
Thy girning '" laugh enjoys his pangs. 

And murd'ring wrestle 
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest yon think I am uncivil. 

To plague you with this draunting 

drivel. 
Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lor"! preserve us frae the Devil ! 

Amer. ! amen ! 

" Plerty. ■ Unsteady. 3 Cat. 

* Rat. 5 A scrape, 

e Then. 1 Woof. 8 Sure. 

9 Topsy-turvy. *® Grinning. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM. ESQ. 
OF FINTRY, ON RECEIVING 
A FAVOUR. 

I CALL no Goddess to inspire my strains, 

A fabled Muse may suit a Bard that 
feigns ; 

Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit 
burns. 

And all the tribute of my heart returns, 

For boons recorded, goodness ever new. 

The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 
Thou orb of day ! thou other paler 
light ! 

And all ye many sparkling stars o( 
night ; 

If aught that giver from my mind ef- 
face ; 

If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 

Then roll to nie, along your wand'ring 
spheres, 

Only to number out a villain's years ! 



EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest. 
As e'er God with his image blest ; 
The friend of man, the friend of truth ; 
The friend of age, and gtiide of youth : 
Few hearts like his, with virtue 

warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so in- 
form'd : 

If there's another world.he lives in bliss ; 

If there is none, he made the best of this. 



EPISTLE 
TO WILLIAM CREECH.* 

Auld chuckle Reekie's- sair distrest, 
Down drops her ance weel burnisht 
crest, 

* The inclosed I have jusl wrote, 
nearly extempore, in a solitary inn in 
Selkirk, after a miserable wet day's 
riding. — R. B. 

^ Edinburgh. 



POEMS. 



itl 



Nae yr^ hei bonnie buskit * nest 

Can yield ava, 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 

Willie's awa ! 

O Willie was a witty wight, 
And had o' things an unco slight ; 
Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, 

An' trig ^ an' braw. 
But now they'll busk her like a fright, 

Willie's awa ! 

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd; 
They durst nae mair than he allow'd, 

That was a law : 
We've lost a birkie ^ weel worth gowd, 

Willie's awa ! 
Now gawkies, tawpies,4 gowks, and 

fools, 
Frae colleges and boarding-schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools 

In glen or shaw ;5 
He wha could brush them down to 
mools, 

Willie's awa ! 

The brethren o' the Commerce-Chau- 

mer6 
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' cla- 
mour ; 
He was a dictionar and grammar 

Amang them a' ; 
I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer, 
Willie's awa ! 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and Poets pour. 
And toothy critics by the scor^ 

In bloody raw ; 
i'he adjutant o' a' the core, 

Willie's awa ! 

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
Ty tier's and Greenfield's modest grace : 
M'Kenzie, Stewart — such a brace 

As Rome ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun meet some ither place, 

Willie's awa ! 



* Ornamented. ' Neat. 

3 Clever fellow. ■♦ Silly girls. 

5 Wood in a hollow. 

6 The Chamber of Commerce in 
Edinburgh. 



Poor Bums e'en Scotch drink canna 

quicken, 
He cheeps' like some bewildered 

chicken 
Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin 

By hoodie-craw ;^ 
Grief's gien his heart an imco kickin', 

Willie's awa ! 
Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin" blellum,' 
And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him ; 
And self-conceited critic skellum'* 

His quill may draw ; 
He wha could brawlie ward their bel 
lum, 

Willie's awa ! 
Up whimpling stately Tweed I've sped. 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks -now roaring red, 

While tempests blaw ; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled, 

Willie's awa ! 
May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 
And lastly, streekit out to bleach 

In winter snaw ; 
When I forget ihee, Willie Creech, 

Tho' far awa ! 
May never wicked fortune touzle him ! 
May never wicked men bamboozle him! 
Until a povv6 as auld's Methusalem 

He canty claw I^ 
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 

Fleet wing awa ' 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 
For every creature's want ! 

We bless thee, God of Nature wide. 
For all thy goodness lent : 

And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guides 
May never worse be sent ; 



* Chirps. ^ Blood-crow. 

3 Talking fellow. ** Scamp. 

5 Creech was the chief publisher in 
Edinburgh. 

6 Head. ? Cheerful scratch. 



Ii8 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



But whether granted or denied. 
Lord, bless us with content ! 

Amen ? 



INSCRIPTION ON THE TOMB 

STONE ERECTED BY BURNS 

TO THE MEMORY OF 

FERGUSSON.^ 

" Here lies Robert Fergusson, Poet, 
born September 5th, 1751 — Died, 
i6th October, 1774." 

Na sculptur'd marble here, nor pom- 
pous lay, 
"No storied urn, nor animated bust ; " 
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's 
way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's 
dust. 



A VERSE COMPOSED AND RE- 
PEATED BY BURNS, TO THE 
MASTER OF THE HOUSE, ON 
TAKING LEAVE AT A PLACE 
IN THE H IGHLANDS, WHERE 
HE HAD BEEN HOSPITABLY 
ENTERTAINED. 

When death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
A time that surely shall come; 

In Heaven itself I'll ask no more. 
Than just a Highland welcome. 



LIBERTY— A FRAGMENT." 

'I'hee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths 

among, 
Thee, famed for martial deed and 

sacred song, 

* Bums had asked permission of the 
Bailies of Canongate, to " lay a simple 
stone over the revered ashes" of 
Fergusson. 

' 1 he Fragment was the amusement 



To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
Where is that soul of Freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 
Beneath the hallowd turf where 
Wallace lies ! 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of 
death ! 
Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep ; 
Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Nor give the coward secret breath. 
Is this the power in Freedom's war, 
That wont to bid the battle rage? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal 
hate, 
Crushing the despot's proudest beat- 
ing, 
That arm which, nerved with thunder- 
ing fate, 
Brav'd usurpation's boldest daring ! 
One quenchd in darkness, like the 

sinking star, 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, 
powerless age. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF 
ROBERT RUISSEAUX.* 

Now Robin lies in his hist lair. 

He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing naemair, 

Cauld poverty, wi" hin>gry stare, 

Nae main shall fear him : 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care 

E'er mair come near him. 
To tell the truth, they seldom fashthim. 
Except the moment that they crusht 

him; 
For sune as chance, or fate, had husht 
'em, 

Tho' e'er sae short. 
Then wi' a rhyme, or sang, he lasht 'em. 

And thought it sport. 
Tho' he was bred to kintra wark, 
And counted was baith wight and stark,' 
Yet that was never Robins mark 

To mak a man ; 

of a lonely hour at a village inn, in the 
summer of 1794. 

' In Riiisseaux, Bums plays on his 
own name. 

' Stoit and enduring. 



POEMS. 



"9 



Btit tell him, he was learn'd and c^ark, 
Ye roos'd him than I 



ANSWER 



TO VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE 

iOET BY THE GUIUWIFE OF 

WAL'CHOPE-HOUSE.^ 

G'JIDWIFE, 

T Mi^D it weel, in early date, 

V/licn I was beardless, young, and blate, 

An' first could thrash the barn, 
(' r haud a yokin at the plough. 
An' tho' fcrfoughten^ sair eneugh. 

Yet uncc' proud to learn : 
When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon'd was, 
And \vi' the lave ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing and clearing 
The tither stocked raw,^ 
Wi' claivers, an' haivers,-* 
\Vearing the day awa : 

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power), 
A wish that, to my latest hour, 

Shall strongly heave my breast ; 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make. 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough bur-thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear,S 

I turn'd the weeding-hook aside, 

An' spar'd the symbol dear : 

No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise ; 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

[n formless jumble, right an' wrang. 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that har'st I said before. 
My partner in the merry core, 

She rous'd the forming strain : 
I ;ee her yet, the sonsie quean. 

That lighted up my jingle, 

* Mrs. Scott, who had some skill in 
rhyming and painti/ig. 

' J ired. 3 '\\^^ other row of shocks. 

* Nonsense. 5 Barley. 



I Her witching smile, her paiiky een, 
'1 hat gart my heart-strings tmgle : 
I fired, inspired, 

At ev'ry kindling keek,^ 
But tjashing, and dashing, 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex ! ilk guid chiel says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter days. 

An" we to share in common : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, 
The saul o life, the heav'n below. 

Is rapture-giving woman, 
Ve surly sumphs, who hate the name. 

Be mindfu' o' your milher : 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye're connected with her. 
Ye're wae men, ye're nae men. 
That slight the lovely dears : 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest bi-f^kie swears. 

For you, no bred to barn and byre,' 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 

Thanks to you for your line : 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare. 
By me should gratefully be ware ; 

'Twad please me to the Nine. 
I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap,^ 

Douce liingin' ovvre my curple. 
Than ony ermine ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple. 

Fareweel then, lang heal then» 

An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan ca'. 
MarJi, 1787. 



LINES ON VIEWING STIRLING 
CASTLE,4 

Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd, 
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd, 

* Look, ^ Stable, or sheep-pen. 

3 Mantle. 

4 Scratched with a diamond on a pane 
of glass at the inn where Burns was 
staying. As the lines were afterwards 
quoted to his prejudice, he smashed 
the pane of glass oa his next visit t9 
Stirling. 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



Bnt now unroof 'd their palace stands. 
Their sceptre sway'd by other hands. 
The injurd Stuart line is gone, — 
A race outlandish fills their throne ; — 
An idiot race, to honour lost ; 
Who know them best despise them 
most. 



TO J. LAPRAIK. 

Sept. 13th, 1785. 
Gum speed an' furder to you, Johnny, 
Guid health, hale hans, and weather 

bonny ; 
Now when ye're nickan down fu' canny 

The staff, o' bread. 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 
To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs, 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er nmirs an' haggs 

Like drivin' wrack ; 
But may the tapniast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it. 

But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it, 

Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark. 
An' took my jocteleg' an' what it. 

Like ony dark. 

It's now twa month that I'm your 

debtor. 
For your braw, nameless, dateless 

letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill-nature 

On holy men, 
While Deil a hair yoursel ye're better. 
But mair profane. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells. 
Let's sing about our noble sels ; 
We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose us. 
But browster wives" an' whiskie stills, 

They are the Muses. 

Vour friendship, Sir, I winna quat it, 
An" if ye mak objections at it, 



Clasp-knife. ' Alehouse wives. 



Then han' in n. vc some day we'll 
knot it. 

An' witness take. 
An' when wi' Usquebae we've wat It 

It winna break. 
But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
Till kye be gaim without the herd. 
An' a' the vittel in the yard, 

An' theekit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 
The muse-inspirin' aqua-vitse 
Shall make us baith sae blithe an' witty 
Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty. 

An' be as canty 
As ye were nine years less than thretty, 

Sweet ane an' twenty ! 
But stooks are cowpet ' wi' the blast. 
An' now the sinn keeks ^ in the west, 
Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An' quit my chanter ; 
Sae I subscribe mysel in haste 

Your's, Rab the Ranter. 3 



TO THE REV, JOHN M'MATH. 

ENCLOSING A COPY OF HOI.V WILLIE'S 

PRAYER, Which he h.^u requested. 

Sept. 17th, 1785. 
While at the stock the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin' •* show'r, 
Or in gulravage riimin scour,5 

To pass the time. 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My musie, tir'd wi' monie a sonnet 
On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bon- 
net, 

* Tumbled over. ^ Sun peeps. 

3 It is very probable that the Poel 
thus named himself after the Boidei 
Piper, so spiritedly introduced in the 
popular song of " Maggie Lauder. '" — 
Croinek. 

4 Driving. 

5 Rimning in -onfusion, like boys 
leaving school. 



POEMS. 



Is growTi right eerie ^ now she's done it, 
Lest they shou'd blame her, 

All' rouse their holy thunder on it. 
And anathem her. 

I own 'twas rash, and rather hardy, 
I'hat I, a simple countra bardie, 
Shou'd meddle wi' a pack so sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me. 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Loose hell upon me. 
r.ut I gae mad at their grimaces, 
Their sighin",cantin', grace-proud faces. 
Their three-mile prayers, and hauf-mile 
graces, 

Their raxin' ^ conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, an' pride dis- 
graces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 

There's Gawn,^ miska't waur than a 

beast, 
Wha has mair honour in his breast 
'I'han monie scores as guid 's the priest 

Wha sae abus'd him ; 
All' may a bard no crack his jest ^ 

What way they've us'd him? 

See him, the poor man's friend in need. 
The gentleman in word an' deed. 
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless skellums, 
An' no a muse erect her head 

To cowe the blellumst 

( ) Pope, had T thy satire's darts 
'in gie the rascals their deserts, 
Id rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin" hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 

Cod knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd 

be, ,^ , 

Nor am I even the thing I cou d be. 
But, twenty times, I rather wou'd be 

An atheist clean, 
Ihan under Gospel colours hid be. 

Just for a screen. 

A n honest man may like a glass, 
Kn h&.iest man may like a lass, 



<^righted. ' Stretching. 

3 Gavin Hamilton, 



But mean revenge, an' malice fause, 

He'll still disdain. 
An' then cry zeal for Gospel laws. 

Like some we ken. 

They tak religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth. 
For what? to gie their malice skouth* 

On some puir wight, 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' riilh. 

To ruin straight. 

All hail. Religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect hue 

Thus daurs to name thee ; 
•To stigmatise false friends of thine 

Can n'er defame thee. 
Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' monie a staia, 
An' far unworthy of thy train, 
Wi' trembling voice I tune my strain, 

To join wi' those, 
WTio boldly daur thy cause maintain 

In spile o' foes ; 
In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs. 
In spite o' undermining jobs. 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 
At worth an' merit. 
By scoundrels, ev'n wi' holy robes. 

But hellish spirit. 
O Ayr ! my dear, my native ground I 
Within thy presbytereal bound, 
A candid lib'ral band is found 
Of public teachers. 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd. 

An' manly preachers. 
Sir, in that circle you are nam'd ; 
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 
An" some, by whom your doctrine'! 
blam'd, 

(Which gies you honour. ) 
Ev'n. Sir, by them your heart's e* 
teemd. 

An' winning manner. 
Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, 
An' if impertinent I've been, 
Impute it not, good Sir, in aiie ^ 

Whase heart ne'ef wrang'-i ys. 
But to his utmost would befriemi 
Ought that belang'd t' ye. 



Vent. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., 
MAUCHLINE. 

RECOMMENDING A BOY. 

Mosgaville, May 3, 1786. 
I HOi.t) il, Sir, my bounden duty, 
To warn you how that Master Tootie, 

AUas, Laird M'Gaun,' 
Was here to hire the lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, 

An' wad hae don 't aff han' : ^ 
But lest he learn the callan tricks, 

As, faith, I muckle doubt him, 
I ike &crapin" out auld Crummie's nicks, 

An' tellin' lies about them ; 
As lieve then, I'd have then. 

Your clerkship he should sair, 
If sae be, ye may be 

Not fitted otherwhere. 
Altho' I say't, he's gleg ^ enough. 
An' 'bout a house that's rude an' rough. 

The boy might learn to swear; 
But then wi' you, he'll be sae taught. 
An' get sic fair example straught, 

I hae na ony fear. 
Ve'll catechise him ever>' quirk, 

An' shore "* him weel wi" hell ; 
An' gar 5 him follow to the kirk — 

— Aye when ye gang yoursel. 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this cumin' Friday, 
Then please. Sir, to lea'e, Sir, 

The orders wi' your lady. 
My word of honour I hae gi'en. 
In Paisley John's, that night at e'en. 

To meet the warld's worm : 
To try to get the twa to gree. 
An' name the airles^ an' the fee. 

In legal mode an' form : 

' Master Tootie then lived in Mauch- 
line ; a dealer in cows. It was his 
common practice to cut the nicks or 
n\arkings from ths horns of cattle, to 
disguise their age. He was an artful 
Irick-contriving character ; hence he 
is called a snick-drawer. Burns styles 
the Devil, in his address to that per- 
bonage, an auld, snick-dra-whig dog." 
- -Croniek. 

^ Off" ha i!. 3 Sharp. 4 Threaten. 

5 Make. ^ Earnest money. 



I ken he weel a snick can draw,* 

When simple bodies let hinn ; 
An' if a Devil be at a'. 

In faith he's sure to get him. 

To phrase you, an' praise you. 

Ye ken your Laureat scorns : 

The pray'r still, your share still. 

Of grateful Minstrel — Burns. 



EPISTLE • 

TO MR. M'ADAM OF CRAIGEN. 

GILLAN, 

IN ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTEI 

HE SENT IN THE COMMENCEMENT ^ 

OF MY POETIC CAREER. 

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
" See wha taks notice o' the Bard ! " 

I lap and cry fu' loud. 

" Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 
The senseless, gawky million ; 

I'll cock my nose aboon them a', 
I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan !" 

'Twas noble. Sir; 'twas like yoursel. 
To grant your high protection : 

A great man's smile, ye ken fu' weel. 
Is aye a blest infection. 

Tho', by his^ banes wha in a tub 
Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! 

On my ain legs, thro' dirt and dub, 
I independent stand aye. — 

And when those legs to gude, warm kail, 
Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 

A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail, 
And barley scone shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 

O' mony flow'ry simmers ! 
And bless your bonnie lasses baith, 

I'm tald they're ioosome kimmers !' 

And God bless yoimg Dunaskin's laird, 
The blossom of our gentry ! 

And may he wear an auld man's beard' 
A credit to his country. 



Contrive a trick. 

3 Girls. 



DIogencj. 



POEMS. 



laj 



TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, 
GLENRIDDEL. 

EXTEMl'ORK LINES ON RETURNING A 
NEWSI'APER. 

Ellisland, Monday Evening. 
VoUR News and Review, Sir, I've read 
through and thrpugh, Sir, 
With little admiring or blaming : 
The papers are barren of home-news or 
foreign, 
No murders or rapes worth the nam- 
ing. 

Uur friends the Reviewers, those 
chippers and hewers. 
Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir; 
But of meot, or unmeet, in a fabrick 
complete, 
I'll boldly pronounce they are none. 
Sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is, to tell all 
your |;oodness 
Bestow'a on your servant, the Poet ; 
Would to God I had one like a beam 
of the sun, 
And then all the world, Sir, should 
know it ! 



TO JOHN MAXWELL,* OF TER- 
RAUGHTY, ON HIS BIRTH- 
DAY. 

(written in 1791.) 

Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief! 
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief: 
luspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf 

This natal mom ; 
I see thy life is stuff o' prief,^ 

Scarce quite half worn. 

This day thou metes tlireescore eleven, 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second-sight, ye ken, is given 
I'o ilka Poet) 

' An able but eccentric man, who 
had a great admiration for the poet's 
Eocial qualities and conversational 
^wers. ^ Proof. 



On thee a tack o* seven limes seven 

Will yet bestow it. 
If envious buckies view wi' sorrow 
Thy lengthen'd days on this blest mor- 
row. 
May Desolation's lang-teeth'd hari ow, 

Nine miles an hoar, 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure ! ^ 
But for thy friends, and they are monie 
Baith honest men and lasses bonnie. 
May couthie^ fortune, kind andcannie. 

In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny 

Bless them and thee ! 

Fareweel, auld birkie 1 3 Lord be near 

ye, 

And then tlie Deil he daur na steer < 

ye : 
Your friends aye love, your faes aye 
fear ye ; 

For me, shame fa' me ! 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye 

While Burns they ca' me. 



THE VOWELS. 



'TwAS where the birch and sounding 

thong are ply'd. 
The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 
Where ignorance her darkening vapour 

throws, 
And cruelty directs the thickening 

blows ; 
Upon a time. Sir Abece the great. 
In all his pedagogic powers elate. 
His awful chair of state resolves to 

mount. 
And call the trembling Vowels to ic- 

count. 
First enter'd A, a grave, broad, so- 
lemn wight. 
But ah ! deform'd, dishonest to th* 

sight ! 
His twisted head look'd backward on 

his way. 



' Dust. 

3 A clever fellow. 



Jj0\nng. 
* M<>lest. 



ia» 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



And flagrant from the scourge, he 
grunted, at! 
Reluctant, E stalk'd m ; with piteous 
race 

The jostling tears ran dowTi his honest 
face ! 

That name, that well-worn name, and 
all his own, 

Pale he surrenders at the tyi ant's 
throne ! 

The pedant stifles keen the Roman 
sound 

Not all nis riungrel diphthongs can com- 
pound : 

And, next, the title following close be- 
hind. 

He to the nameless, ghastly wretch 
assign'd. 
The cobweb'd gothic dome resound- 
ed, Y ! 

In sullen vengeance, I disdain'd reply : 

The pedant swung } is felon cudgel 
round. 

And knock'd the groaning vowel to the 
ground ! 
In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 

The wailing minstrel of despairing woe ; 

Th' Inquisitor of Spain, the most ex- 
pert, 

Might there have learnt new mysteries 
of his art : 

So grim, deform'd, with horrors enter- 
ing, U 

His dearest friend and brother scarcely 
knew 1 
As trembling U stood staring all 
aghast, 

The pedant in his left hand clutch'd 
him fast. 

In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his 

right, 
Baptis'd him en, and kick'd him from 
his siirht. 



PROLOGUE 

FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S 

BENEFIT-NIGHT, DUMFRIES. 

IVhat needs this din about the town 

o' Lon'on, 
How this new pi ly, an' that new sang, 

is couiiu' 1 



Why is outlandish stuff sae meiklj 

courted ? 
Does nonsense mend l»ke whiskj when 

imported ? 
Is there nae poet, buruing keen foi 

fame. 
Will tr^' to gie us sangs and plaj » at 

hanie ? 
For comedy abroad he need na toil, 
A fool and knave are plants ol e\iiy 

soil : 
Nor need he hunt as far as R. me au^ 

Greece, 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enow in Caledonian 

story. 
Would show the tragic muse in a' her 

glory. 
Is there no danng Bard will rise and 

tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hap- 
less fell ? 
WTiere are the Muses fled that could 

produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
How here, even here, he first un- 

sheath'd the sword 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty 

lord ; 
And after monie a bloody, deathless 

doin', 
Wrench'd his dear country from the 

jaws of ruin? 
O for a Shakespeare, or an Otway 

scene. 
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish 

Queen ! 
Vain all the omnipotence of female 

charms 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebel- 
lion's arms, 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly 

Roman, 
To glut the vengeance of a rival wo- 
man : 
A woman, tho' the phrase may seem 

uncivil. 
As able and as cruel as the Devil ! 
One Douglas lives in Home's inmiortal 

page. 
But Douglases were heroes every age : 
And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, 
A Douglas foUow'd to the martial 

strife. 



POEMS. 



Pcrhajis, if oowls row right, and right 

succeeds, 
Ve yet may follow where a Douglas 

leads ! 
As ye hae generois done, if a' the 

land 
Would lak the Muses' servants by the 

hand : 
N" )i o!il\ hear, but patronize, befriend 

ihcin, 
And where ye justly can commend, 

commend them ; 
And aiblins when they winna stand the 

test, 
Wink hard ind say, the folks hae done 

their best 1 
Would a' th- i.iiid do this, then I'll be 

cauti'.i 
Ye'll soon hae Poets, o' the Scottish 

nation. 
Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet 

" crack. 
And warsle ' time an' lay him on his 

back ! 
For us and for our stage should onie 

spier, 
" Whasc aught thae chiels maks a' this 

bustle here?" 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my 

brow. 
We hae the honour to belong to you ! 
Were your ain bairns, e.en guide us as 

ye like, 
But, like good mithers, shore before ye 

strike — 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find 

us. 
For a' the patronage and meikle kind- 
ness 
We've got frae a' professions, sets, and 

ranks : 
God help us ! we're but poor — ye'se get 

but thanks. 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 

SKETCH. 

For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
Een let them die— for that they're bom: 



But oh ! prodigious to reflec' ! 
A Towmont,* Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place I 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us 
In what a pickle thou hast left us I 

The Spanish empire's tint^ a head, 
And my auld teethless Bawtie's dead 
The tulzie's 3 sair between Pitt an' Fox, 
And 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks; 
The tane is game, a bludie devil. 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
The tither's something dour o" treadin'. 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden. "* 

Ye ministers, come m- >un t the poupit S 
An' cry till ye be haerse^ an' roupet. 
For Eighty-eight he wisn"d you weel. 
And gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 
E'en monie a plack, and monie a peck. 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck. 

Ye bonnie lasses, dight your een, 7 
For some o' you hae tint a frien ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
What yell ne'er hae to gie again. 
Observe the vera nowte*' an' sheep. 
How dowf 5 and daviely they creep: 
Nay, even the yirth itsel does cr>% 
For E'mbrugh wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn. 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care. 
Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cuff 'd, mizzl'd, hap-shacki'd 

Regent, 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest mau : 
As muckle better as you can. 

January i, 1789. 



DELIA.^° 

AK ODE. 



Fair the face of orient day. 
Fair the lints of op'ning rose ; 

' Twelvemonth. ^ Lost. 

3 Quarrel. » Dunghill. 

5 Pulpit. 6 Hoarse. 

7 Wipe your eyes. 8 Cattle. 

5 Languid. 
^° Said to have been written at tkt 



130 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



But fairer still my Delia daJvns, 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 

But, Delia, more delightful still 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flower-enamour'd busy bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 

Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip ; 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove ! 

O let me steal one liquid kiss ! 

For, oh ! my soul is parch'd with love 



SKETCH. 



A in ri.E, upright, pert, tart, tripping 
wight, 

Arvd still his precious self his dear de- 
light ; 



Inn of Brownhill, in the parish of Close- 
bum, " a favourite resting-place of 
Burns." 

* The piece inscribed, " R. G., Esq.," 
is a copy of verses I sent Mr. Gra- 
ham, of Fintry, accompanying a re- 
quest for his assistance in a matter 
to me of very great moment. This 
poem is a species of composition new 
to me, but I do not intend it shall be 
my last essay of the kind, as you will 
see by the "Poet's Progress." These 
fragments, if my design succeed, are 
but a small part of the intended whole. 
I propose it shall be the work of my 
utmost exertions, ripened by years. 
The fragment beginning, " A little, 
upright, pert, tart," &c., forms the 
postulate, the axioms, the definition of 
a character, which, if it appear at all, 
shall be placed in a variety of lights. 
This particular part I send you merely 
as a sample of my hand at portrait- 
sketching. — To Fro/essor D. \ *ewart, 
Jan. 20, 1789, 



Who loves his own smart shadow ia 
the streets 

Better than e'er the fairest she he meets ; 

A man of fashion too, he made his tour, 

Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive I'a- 
mour ; 

So travell'd monkeys their grimace im- 
prove, 

Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' 
love. 

Much specious lore, but little under- 
stood ; 

Veneering oft outshines the solid ivood : 

His solid sense — by inches you must 
tell, 

But mete his cunning by the old Scots 
ell ; 

His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, 

Still making work his selfish craft must 
mend. 



VERSES 

WRITTEN UNDER THE POKTRAIT OF 
FEKGUSSON, THE POET, IN A COPY 
OF THAT author's WORKS, PRE- 
SBNTED TO A YOUNG LAUY IN 
EDINBURGH, MARCH I9I H, I7B7. 

CuR.SE on ungrateful man, that can be 

p'.easd, 
And yet can starve the author of the 

pleasure ! 
O thou, my elder brother in misfortune. 
By far my elder brother in the Muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why is the Hard unpitied by the world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures! 



LAMENT, 

WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE 

POET WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE 

SCOTLAND.^ 

O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lon« 
mountain straying, 
Where the wild winds of winter m 
cessantly rave, 

* Originally published in the Dun 



POEMS, 



HHiat woes wring my heart while in- 
tently surveying 
The storm's gloomy path on the 
breast of the wave. 
Ve foam-crested billows, allow me to 
wail, 
Ere ye toss me afar from my lov' d 
native shore ; 
Where the flower which bloom'd sweet- 
est in Coila's green vale, 
The pride of my bosom, my Mary's 
no more. 
No more by the banks of the streamlet 
we'll wander. 
And smile at the moon's rimpled face 
in the wave ; 
No more shall mj arms cling with 
fond; ess around her. 
For the dew-drops of morning fall 
cold on her grave. 
No more shall the soft thrill of love 
warm my breast, 
I haste with the storm to a far dis- 
tant shore ; 
VIHiere unknown, unlamented, my ashes 
shall rest, 
And joy shall revisit my bosom no 
more. 



ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES 
HUNTER BLAIR.^ 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging 
glare. 
Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the west- 
ern wave ; 
Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the 
darkening air. 
And hollow whistl'd in the rocky cave. 
Lone as I wander'd by each clififand dell, 
0...ce the lov'd haunts of S(-otia"s 
royal train ;^ 



fries Journal, July 5th, 1815, but doubt- 
fudy ascribed to Burns. 

^ Sir Jan.es Blair died July i, 1787 : 
he was a partner in Forbes' Bank, at 
Edinburgh. 

' I'he Kii.g's Pirk, at Holyrood 
ttoiise.— R. B. 



Or mus'd where limpid streams, once 
hallow'd, well, 
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred 
fane." 
Th' increasmg blast roar'd round the 
beetling rocks. 
The clouds swift-wing'd flew o'er the 
starry sky, 
The groaning trees untimely shed their 
locks. 
And shooting meteors caught the 
startled eye. 
The paly moon rose in the livid east, 
And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a 
stately form. 
In weeds of woe that frantic beat her 
breast. 
And mix'd her wailings with the 
raving storm. 
Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shie d I 
view'd : 
Her form majestic droop'd in pe'isivc 
woe, 
The lightning of her eye in tears im- 
bued. 
Revers'd that si)ear, redoubtable in war, 
Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields 
unfurl'd. 
That like a deathful meteor gleam'd 
afar. 
And brav'd the mighty monarchs of 
the world. — 
"My patriot son fills an untimely 
grave !" 
Wall accents wild and lifted arms 
she cried ; 
" Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd 
to save, 
Low lies the heart that swell'd with 
honest pride. 
"A weeping country joins a widow's 
tear, 
The helpless poor mix with the or- 
phan's cry ; 
The drooping Arts surround their pa- 
tron's bier. 
And gratefid Science heave? thf 
heartfelt sigh.— 

^ St. Anthony's Well.— R. B. 
"" St Vnthony s C'lapel.— R. B, 



128 



WOEKS OF BURNS. 



" I saw my sons resume their ancient 
fire ; 
I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly 
blow ; 
But, ah ! how hope is born but to ex- 
pire ! 
Relentless fate has laid their guardian 
low. — 

" My patriot falls, but shall he lie un- 
sung, 
^Vhlle empty greatness saves a worth- 
less name? 
No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful 
tongiie, 
And future ages hear his growing 
fame. 
•And I will join a mother's tender 
cares. 
Thro' future times to make his vir- 
tues last, 
That distant years may boast of other 
Blairs,"— 
She said, and vanish'd with the 
sweeping blast. 



THE POET'S WELCOME TO 
HIS ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.* 

Thou's welcome, wean ! mischanter' 

fa' me, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever dan ton me, or awe me. 

My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta, or daddy. 
Wee image of my bonnie Betty, 
I, fatherly, will kiss and daut 3 thee. 
As dear an' near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as gude will. 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' h — 11. 
What tho' they ca' me fornicator, 
An' tease my name in kintra clatter; 

* The mother was Elizabeth Paton,of 
Largieside, and her daughter died in 
1817, the wile of the jverseer at Polk- 
cmmet. 

='Accideit. 3 Fondle. 



The mair they talk I'm kent the better, 
E'en let them clash ; 

An auld wife's tongue's a feckle:* 
matter 

To gie ane fash. 

Sweet fruit o' monie a merry dint. 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin' thou came to the warld asklent,' 

Whicli fools may scoff at 
In my last plack thy parts be ir't — 

The better half o't. 

An' if thou be what I wad hae thoe, 
An' tak the counsel I shall gie thte, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee. 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee» 

An' think 't weel war'd. 

Gude grant that thou may aye inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 

Without his failins, 
'Twill please me mair to hear an' see't 

Than stockit mailins.^ 



LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE. 
KILMARNOCK, ON THE PUB- 
LICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. 

O GouDiE ! terror o' the Whigs, 
Dread o' black coats and rev' rend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin' ^ looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 
Waes me ! she's in a sad cundiiion ; 
Fy, bring Black-Jock, her state physi- 
cian. 

To see her water ; 
Alas ! there's ground o' great suspicivt 

She'll ne'er get belter. 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grappile, 
But now she's got an unco ripple ;'* 



* Asquint. 
' Grinning. 



' Farms. 
4 Death MSi 



EPISTLES, &>c. 



tag 



Haste, gle her name up i' the chapel, 

Nigh anio death; 
See how she fetches at the thrapple,* 

An' K-'^sps for breath. 
Enthusiasm's past redemption, 
Gaen in a galloping consumption. 
Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gump- 
tion, 

Will ever mend her ; 
Hei feeble pulse gies strong presump- 
tion. 

Death soon will end her. 

Tis you and Taylor^ are the chief, 
VVha are to blamt: for this mischief ; 
But gin the Lord's ain focksgat leave, 

A loom 3 tar-barrel 
An' twa red peats wad send relief. 

An' end the quarrel. 



LETTER TO JAMES TAIT, 
GLENCONNER.4 

AuLH comrade dear, and brither sinner, 
How's a' the folk about Glenconner ; 
How do you this blae eastlin win'. 
That's like to blaw a body blin' ? 
For me, my faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly dozen'. 
I've sent you here by Johnnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ; 
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 
An' Reid, to common sense appealing, 
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled. 
An' meikle Greek an' Latiri mangled. 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd,^ 
'An' in the depth of Science mir'd, 
To conunon sense they now appeal, 
What wives an' wabstersS see an' feel. 
But, hark ye, friend, I charge you 

strictly, 
Peruse them, an' return them quickly, 
For now I'm grown sae cursed dovvi, 
I pray an' ponder but the house, 

» Throat. ^ Dr.Taylor, of Norwich. 

3 Empty. 

4 According to Burns, " the most 
intelligent farmer in the country." 

5 Weavers. 



My shins, my lane,' I there sit roastin', 
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston; 
Till by an' by, if I haud on, 
I'll grunt a real Gospel-groan : 
Already I begin to try it, ^ 

To cast my etn up like a pyet, 
When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 
Flutt'ring an' gaspin' in her gore : 
Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
A burmng an' a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld 

Glen, 
The ace an' wale 3 of honest men : 
When bending down wi' auld grey 

hairs. 
Beneath the load of years and cares. 
May he who made him still support him, 
An' views beyond the grave comfort 

him. 
His worthy fam'ly far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear 1 

My auld school-fellow, Preachei 
Willie, 
The manly tar,-* my mason Billie, 
An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy. 
May he be dad, and iMeg the mither. 
Just five-and- forty years thegither ! 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
An' Lord re.nember singmg Sannock, 
Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, an' a ban- 
nock. _ 
An' next, my aidd acquamtance,N ancy, 
Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
An' her kind stars hae airied till her 
A good chiel wi' a pickle 5 siller. _ 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 
To cousin Kate an' sister Janet ; 
Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cau- 
tious. 
For, faith, they'll aiblins fin them 

fashions ; 
To grant a heart is fairly civil. — 
An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel. 
May guardian angels tak a spell, 

' Myself alone. 

=* Magpie. ^ Choice. 

4 The "manly tar" was probajlj 
Richard Brown.— Cunningham. 

5 Small quantity. 



«3«> 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



An' steer you seven miles south o' hell : 
But first, before ye see heav'n's glory, 
May ye get monie a merry story, 
Monie a laugh, and monie a drink. 
An' aye eneugh o' needfu' clink. 

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be \vi' you. 
For my sake this I beg it o' you, 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'll fin' him just an honest man ; 
Sae I conclude and quat my chanter, 
ycurs, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranter. 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS' TO 
MARIA. 

From those drear solitudes and frowzy 
cells, 

JVTiere infamy with sad repentance 
dwells ; 

ATiere turnkeys make the jealous por- 
tal fast. 

And deal from iron hands the spare re- 
past ; 

Where truant 'prentices, yet young in 
sin. 

Blush at the curious stranger peeping 
in ; 

Where strumpets, rehcs of the drunken 
roar, 

Resolve to drink, nay half to w — e, no 
more ; 

Where tiny thieves, not destin d yet to 
swing. 

Beat hemp for others, riper for the 
string : 

From these dire scenes my wretched 
lines I late. 

To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 

" Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ! " 
*Tis real hangmen, real scourges bear ! 
Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
Will turn thy very rouge to deadly 
pale; 



j * The Esopus of this strange epistle 

! was Williamson the actor, and the 

! Mafia to whom it is addressed was 

I Mrs. Riddel.— Allan Cunniisgham. 



Will make thy hair, tho' erst from 

gipsy poll'd. 
By barber woven, and by b\rber sold. 
Though twisted smooth with Harry's 

nicest care. 
Like hoary bristles tc ;rect and stare. 
The hero of the mini c scene, no more 
I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; 
Or haughty Chieftain, 'mid the din ot 

arms, 
In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's 

charms : 
While sans culottes stoop up the moun- 
tain high. 
And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 
Bless'd Highland bonnet ! Once my 

proudest dress, 
Now prouder still, Maria's temples 

press. 
I see her wave thy towering plumes afar, 
And call each coxcomb to the wordy 

war. 
I see her face the first of Ireland's sons, 
And even out-Irish his Hibernian 

bronze ; 
The crafty colonel leaves the tartan'd 

lines. 
For other wars, where he a hero 

shines : 
The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate 

bred. 
Who owns a Bushby's heart withoi t 

the head, 
Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs to 

display 
That vcni, vidi, vici, is his way ; 
llie shrinking bard adown an alley 

skulks, 
And dreads a meeting worse than 

Woolwich hulks ; _ 
Though there his heresies in church 

and state 
Might well award him Muir and Pal- 
mer's fate : 
Still she undaunted reels and rattles on. 
And dares the public like a noontide sun. 
(What scandal called Maria's janty 

stagger 
Thericket reeling of a crooked swaggerl 
Whose spleen, e en worse than Burns's 

venom — when 
He dips in gall unmix'd his ertjer pen. 
And pours his vengeince in the hu; nin^ 

line, — 



EPISTLES, &'c. 



Who chr'utcn'd thus Maria's lyre di- 
vine ; 
The idiot strum of vanity bemused, 
And even tli' abuse of poesy abused ! 
'Ahocall'd her verse, aparish workhouse 

made 
For motley, foundling fancies, stolen 

or stray'd ?) 
A workhouse ! ah, that sound awakes 

my woes. 
And pillows on the thorn my rack'd 

repose ! 
In durance vile here must I wake anl 

weep, 
And all my frowzy couch in sorrow 

sLeep ; 
That straw where many a rogue has 

lain of yore. 
And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. 

Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on 
vagrants pour. 

Must earth no rascal, save thyself, en- 
dure ? 

M ust thou alone in guilt immortal swell. 

And make a vast monopoly of hell ? 

Thou know'si the virtues cannot hate 
thee worse ; 

The vices also, must they club their 
curse ? 

Or m\ist no tiny sin to others fall, 

Because thy guilt's supreme enough for 
all? 

Maria, send me too thy griefs and 

cares ; 
In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 
As thou :'.t all mankind the flag unfurls. 
Who on my fair-one satire's vengeance 

hurls? 
Who calls thee pert, affected, vain 

coquette, 
A wit in folly, and a fool in wit? 
Who says that fool alone is not thy due. 
And quotes thy treacheries to prove it 

true? 
Our force united on thy foes we'll turn. 
And dare the war with all of woman 

bom : 
Foi wlio can write and speak as thou 

and I? 
My periods that decyphering defy, 
♦ ad thy stiii matchless tongue that 

conquers all reply. 



ON A SUICIDE. 



Earth'd up here lies an imp o heli» 

Planted by Satan's dibble- 
Poor silly wretch, he's d — d himsel' 
To save the l,ord the trouble. 



A FAREWELL.' 

Farewell, dear Friend ! may guiJ 

luck hit you, 
And, 'mang her favourites admit you 1 
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you. 

May nane believe him ! 
And ony Deil that thinks to get you. 

Good l^ord, deceive him. 



THE FAREWELL. 

Farewell old Scotia's bleak domain^ 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

Where rich anatias blow ! 
Farewell, a mmher's blessing dear! 
A brother's sigh ! a. sister's tear ! 

My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
Farewell, my P.ess ! tho' thou'rt berefl 

Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother I have left, 

My part in him thou'lt share ! 

* A melancholy person of the name 
of Glendinning, having taken away 
his own life, was interred at a place 
called "The Old Chapel," close besidoi 
Dumfries. My friend Or. Copland 
Hutchinson happened lobe walking out 
that way : he saw I'urns with his foot 
on the grave, his hat on his k:iee, and 
paper laid on his hat, on which he was 
writing. He then took the paper, 
thrust it with his tinker into the red 
mould of the grave, and went away. 
I'his was the above epigram, and such 
was the Poet's mode of publishing lU 
— A. Ciinnin(;ham. 

' The friend was Mr. John Kennedy. 
K. a 



139 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Adieu too, to you too, 

My Smith, my bosom frien' ; 

When kindly you mind me', 
O then bjfnend my Jean ! 

When burstinjj anguish tears my heart ! 
From thee, my Jeannie, must I part ! 
ThDu weeping answ'rest, " No ! " 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face. 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I, for thy sake, must go ! 
Thee Hamilton, and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm adieu ! 
(, with a much-indebted tear. 
Shall still remember you ! 
All hail then, the gale then, 

Wafts me from tiiee, dear shore ! 
It rustles, and whistles — 
I'll never see thee more ! 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRA- 
HAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY: ON 
THE CLOSE OF THE DIS- 
PUTED ELECTION BETWEEN 
S.iR JAMES JOHNSTONE iiND 
CAPTAIN MILLE'?, FOR THE 
EUMFRIES DISTRICT OF 
BOROUGHS. 



PiNTFY. my stay in worldly strife, 
^riend o' my Muse, friend o' my life. 

Are ye as idle's I am? 
Cnnif then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,* 
Ocr I'egasus III fling my leg, 

And ye shall see me try him. 

I'll sing the zeal Druinlanrig bears 
\Vh > left the all-important cares 

Of princes and their darlings ; 
And, bert on winning borough towns, 
Camt sh.-iking hands .wi' wabsterlowns. 

And kissing barefit carlins.'^ 

Combustion thro' our boroughs rode 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad 
Of mad unmuzzled lions ; 



Kick. 



' Old women. 



As Queensberry buff and bhic ui'furP^ 
And Westerha' and Hopeton hurl'd 
To every Whig defiance. 

But cautious Queensberry left the war, 
Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his 
star; 

Besides, he hated bleeding ; 
But left behind him heroes bright. 
Heroes in Caesarean fight. 

Or Ciceronian pleading. 

O ! for a throat like huge Mons-mcg, 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drumlanrig's banner ; 
Heroes and heroines commix. 
All in the field of politics. 

To win immortal honour. 

M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, 
(Th'enamour"d laurels kiss her brows!) 

Led en the loves and graces : 
She won each gaping burgess" heait, 
WhiH, he, all-conciuering, play'd hu 
part 

Among their wives and lasses. 

Criigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps. 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour. 

Like Hecla streaming thunder: 
Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins. 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 

And bared the trea.son under. 

In either wing two champions fought. 
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought 

The wildest savage J'ory : 
And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his 

ground, 
High-waved his magnum-bonum round 

With Cyclopeian fury. 

Miller brought up ih' artillery ranks. 
The many-poundcrs of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation ! 
While Ma.xwekon, that baron bold, 
'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold, 

And threaten'd worse damnatioa. 

To these what Tory hosts oppos'd. 
With these what Tory warriors clos'd. 

Surpasses my descriving: 
Squadrons, extended long and large. 
With furious speed rusii to the charge, 

Like raging devils driving. 



EPISTLES, &'c. 



«33 



What verse car sing, what prose nar- 

rat<;, 
The butcher deeds of bloody fate 

Amid this mighty tiilzie ! 
Grim Horror girn'd — pale Terror roar'd, 
As Murther at his thrapple ' shor'd. 

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie.* 

As highland crags by thunder cleft, 
When lightnings fire the stormy lift, 

\ Hurl down with crashing rattle: 

j As flames among a hundred woods ; 

( • Ai headlong foam a hundred floods ; 

I Such is the rage of battle ! 

I'he stubborn Tories dare to die ; 

As soon the rooted oaks would fly 
Before th' approaching fellers : 
! The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
( When all his wintry billows pour 

I Against the Buchan Bullers.3 

i Lo, from the shades of Death's deep 

I night, 

j Departed Whigs enjoy the fight, 

! And think on former darmg : 

i The muffled murtherer of Charles 

The Magna Charta flag unfurls. 
All deadly gules its bearing. 
j Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, 

j" Bold Scrimgcour follows gallant Gra- 
j ham, 

I Auld Covenanters shiver. 

'' (Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Mont- 

rose ! 

Now death and hell engulf thy foes. 
Thou liv'st on high for ever !) 

Still o'er the field the combat bums. 
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns ; 

But Fate the word has spoken. 
For woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas ! can do but what they can ! 

The Tory ranks are broken. 
O that my een were flowing burns ! 
My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
Y\\\l I might greet, that 1 might cry. 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly. 

And furious Whigs pursuing ! 

* Throat. ' The broil. 

■* A rocky opening on the coast of 
4»)>erdeenshire. 



What Whig bit melts .'or good Sii 

James? 
Dear to his country by the name* 

Friend, patron, benefactor ! 
Not Eulteney's wealth can PultCHey 

save ! 
And Hopeton falls, the generous bra/e 1 
And Stewart, bold as Hector. 

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow ; 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe ; 

And Melville melt in wailing ! 
How Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
And Burke shall sing, O Prince, arise, 

Thy power is all-prevailing ! 

For your poor friend, the Bard, afar 
He only hears and sees the war, 

A cool spectator purely ! 
So, when the storm the forest rends. 
The robin in the hedge descends. 

And sober chirps securely. 

Now for my friends" and brethren's 

sakes, 
And for my dear-loved I-and o" Cakes, 

I pray with holy fire : 
Lord, send a rough-shod troop o' hell. 
O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell, 

To grind them in the mire I 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. 

[Major Logan was a skilful player 
of the violin, and a man after Burns' 
own heart. He was a retired military 
officer, and well known to the celebrat- 
ed Neil Gow. He resided at Park 
House, near Ayr, and lived wiih his 
sister and mother. This sister was the 
Miss Logan to whom the poet addrer ed 
some verses, with a present of Beattit's 
Poems (see p. 69I. The Major was a 
jovial friend and a great favourite 
of the poet's, and, besides being a first- 
rate violinist, was a capital companion. 
He abounded in anecdote and .lUim r- 
ous sallies of good-humoured wit. 
This Efiistle shows the high esw .n 
in which he was held, and especi^'y 
by Bums.] 



»34 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Hail, thairm^-Inspirin', rattlin' Wll- 
I lie ! 

i Though Fortune's road be rough an' 

hilly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie. 

We never heed, 
But tak it like the unback'd filly. 
Proud o' her speed. 

When idly goavan^ whyles we saun- 
ter, 
Virr^ fancy barks, awa' we canter 
Uphill, down brae, iTU some mis- 
chanter,'* 

Some black bog-hole, 
Arrests us, then the scathe 5 an' ban- 
ter 

We're forced to thole.* 



Hale be your heart ! Halt be your 

fiddle ! 
Lang may your elbuck jink and did- 
dle. 
To cheer you through the weary wid- 
dle 

O' this wild warl', 
Until you on a crummock driddle^ 
A grey-hair"d carl. 

Come wealth, come poortith, late or 

soon, 
Heaven send your heart-strings aye in 

tune, 
And screw your temper-pins aboon, 

A fifth or niair, 
I'he melancholious, lazy croon 
O' cankrie care. 

May still your life from day to day 
Nae " lente largo" in the pLiy, 
But "allegretto forte" gay 

Harmonious flow : 



^ Fiddle-string. 

* Walking without an object. 

3 Lively. 

•* Accident. 

5 Injury. 

6 To bear. 

7 Hobble on a stick. 



A sweeping, kindling, bauld strath- 
spey- 
Encore ! Bravo ! 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang, 
An' never think p' right an' wrang 

By square an' rule. 
But as the clegs ' o' feeling stang' 

Are wise or fool. 

My hand-waled curse keep hard ir 

chase 
The harpy, hoodock, 3 purse-proud race, 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fire-side discords jar a base ] 

'I'o a' their parts ! ! 

But come, your hand, my careless bri» i 
ther, ^ \ 

V th' ither warl' — if there's anither. 
An' that there is I've little swither"* 

About the matter, — 
We cneek for chow shall jog thegither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 

We've faults and failings — granted 

clearly, 
We're frail backsliding mortals merely, 
Eves bonny squad priests wyteS them 
sheerly 

For our grand fa' ; , 

But still, but still, 1 like them dearly— i 

God bless them a' 1 i 

Ochon for poor Castalian drinkers, 
When they fa" foul o' earthly jinkers. 
The witching curs'd delicious blinkers 

Hae put me hj'te,^ 
And gart me weet my waukrife wink- 
ers,7 

Wi' girnin spite. 

But by yon moon ! — and that's high 

swearin' — 
An' every star within my hearin' ! 
An' by her een wha was a dear ane ! 

I'll ne'er forget ; 
I hope to gie the jads^ a clearin' 

In fair play yet. 

' Gadflies. = Sting. 

3 Miserly. * Doubt, 

S Blame. ^ Frantic. 

7 Wet my sleepless eyes. 8 Jadcs. 



El'lSTLES, EPITAPH^, &>€ 



'3J 



My loss I nioum, but not repent It, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint^ it, 
Ance to the Indies I were wonted. 

Some cantraip^ hour, 
By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted. 

Then, vive I ^ amour! 

Faites mes haissemains respectite^'^es. 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

An' honest Lucky ; no to roose ye, 

Ye may be proud. 
That sic a couple fate allcvs ye 

'I'o grace your blood. 

N'ae mair at present can I measure, 
An' trowth my rhymin' ware's nae 

treasure ; 
But when in Ayr, some half-hour's 
leisure, 

He't light, be't dark, 
Sir Bard will do himsel' the pleasure 
To call at Park. 

Robert Burns. 
Mossgiel, 2°th October, 1786. 



EPITAPH ON THE POET'S 
DAUGHTER.3 

Heke lies a rose, a budding rose, 
Blasted before its bloom ; 

' Lost. = Charmed. 

3 These lines are said to have been 
written by Burns on the loss of his 
daughter, who died in the autumn of 
1795, and of whom he thus speaks in 
his letter to Mrs. Dunlop, from Dum- 
fries, January 31, 1796: "These many 
months you have been two packets in 
my debt — what sin of ignorance I have 
committed against so highly valued a 
friend I am utterly at a loss to guess. 
Alas ! madam, ill can I afford, at this 
time, to be deprived of any of the small 
renmant of my pleasures. I have lately 
drunk deep of the cup of affliction. 
The autuwm robbed me of my only 
daughter &nd darling child, and that at 
a distance too, and so rapidly, as to put 
it out of my power to pay the last 
duics to her. I ha^ scarcely begun 



Whose innocence did sweets disclose 
Beyond that flower's perfume. 

To those who for her loss are grieved, 
This consolation's given — 

She's from a world of woe relieved. 
And blooms a rose in Heaven. 



EPITAPH ON GABRIEL 
RICHARDSON.* 

Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct. 
And empty all his barrels : 

He's ble t — if, as he brcw'd, he drink 
In upright honest morals. 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER." 

In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 
A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 
Where words ne'er crost the Muse's 

heckles,3 
Nor limpet in poetic shackles ; 
A land that prose did never view it, 
Except when drunk he stachert through 



to recover from that shock when I be- 
came myself the victim of a most severe 
rheimiatic fever, and long the die spun 
doubtful : until, after many weeks of 
sick bed, it seems to have turned up 
life, and I am beginning to crawl across 
my room, and once indeed have beea 
before my own door in the street. 

" When pleasure fascinates the mental 
sight, 
AfHiction purifies the visual ray. 
Religion hails the drear, the imtricd 
night. 
That shuts, for ever shuts, life's 
doubtful day." 

* A brewer in Dumfries. 

* A merchant of Kilmarnock, and a 
generous patron of Burns at the begin- 
ning of his poetical career. 

3 Instrument for dressing flax. 



t3o 



n^OJ!A'S OF BUR ITS, 



Here, ambush'd hy the chimla * check, 
Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 
1 hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 
1 hear it — for in vain I leuk. — 
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 
Enhiiskcd by a fog infernal : 
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 
I sit and coimt my sins by chapters ; 
For life and spunk, like ither Christians, 
1 m dwindled down to mere existence, 
VVi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 
Wi' nae kend face but Jenny Gcddes. 

ienny, my Pegasean pride ! 
)owie* she saunters down Nithside, 
And aye a westlin leuk she throws. 
While tears hap o'er her auld brown 

nose ! 
Was it for this, wi' canny care, 
Thou bure the Bard through many a 

shire ? 
At howes or hillocks never stumbled, 
And late or early never grumbled ? 
Oh, had I power like inclination, 
I"d hec7e5 thee up a constellation. 
To canter with the Sagitarre, 
Or loup the ecliptic like a bar, 
Or turn the pole like any arrow : 
Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-mor- 
row, 
Down the zodiac urge the race, 
And cast dirt on his godship's face: 
For I could lay my bread and kail, 
He'd ne'er cast saut \ipo' thy tail. — 
Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 
And sma', snia' prospect of relief. 
And nought but peat reek i' my head. 
How can I write what ye can read ? — 
Tarbolton, twenty-founh o' June, 
Ye'U find me in a better tune ; 
But till we meet and weet our whistle, 
Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 

Robert Burns. 



ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB TO 
THE PRESIDENT 4 OF THE 
HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 

Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, 
Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland 
boors ; 

' Fire-place. ' Weary. 3 Raise. 
* The Earl of Breadalhane. 



Lord crant nae duddie* desperafel 

^ beggar, 
Wi' dirk, claymore, or nisty tri^;;ger| 
May twin- auld Scotland o' a hfe 
She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 

Faith you and A s were right 

To keep the Highland hounds .'n sight J 
I doubt na' ! they wa \ bid nae bettet 
Than let them ance out owre the water; 
Then up amang thae lakes and seas 
They'll mak what rules and laws they 

please ; 
Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 
May set their Highland bluid a ranklin'; 
Some Washington again may head 

them, 
Or some Montgomery fearless lead 

them. 
Till God knows what may be effected. 
When by such heads and hearts di- 
rected — 
Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 
May to Patrician rights aspire ! 
Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sack- 

ville. 
To watch and premier o'er the pack 

vile ; 
An' whare will ye get Howes and 

Clintons 
To bring them to a right repentance. 
To cowe the rebel generation. 
An' save the honour o' the nation ? 

They an' be ! what right hae they 

To meat or sleep, or light o" day? 
Far less to riches, powr, or freedom, 
But wliat your Lordship likes to gie 

them ? 

But hear, my Lord ! Glengarry, hear ! 
Your hands owre light on them, I 

fear; 
Your factors, grieves, trustees, and 

bailies, 
I canna' say but they do gaylies ; 3 
Ihey lay aside a' tender mercies, 
An' tirl the hallions to the birses ; 
Yet while they're only poind't ana 

herriet,^ 
They'll keep their stubborn His^hland 

spirit ; 



* Ragged. ^ Deprive. ^ Pretty well 
•* Seized and plur.dered. 



EPISTLES, EPITAPHS, &»c. 



»3f 



But STT.ash them! crash them a' to 

spails ! ' 
An' rot the dyvors^ i' the jails ! 
liic young dogs, swinge^ them to the 

labour ; 
Ivet wark and hunger mak them sober ! 
'I he hizzies, if they're aughtlins faw- 

sont,4 
Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd ! 
An' if the wives an' dirty brats 
E'en thigyer 5 at your doors an' yetts^ 
Flaffan wi' duds^ an' grey wi' beas', 
Frightin' awa your deucks an' geese, 
(Jet out a horsewhip, or a jowler. 
The langest thong, the fiercest growler, 
An' gar the tatter d gypsies pack 
Wi' a' their bastarts on their back ! 
Go on, my Lord ! I iang to meet you, 
An' in my house at name to greet you; 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle. 
The benmost neuk beside the ingle, 
At my right han' assignd your seat 
''Iween Herod's hip and Polycraie, — 
C-r if you on your station tarrow,8 
I'etween Almagro and Pizarro, 
A ?tat, Lm sure ye" re weel deservin't; 
An' till ye come — Your humble servant, 
Beelzebub. 
yuKe I, Anna Muiidi, 5790. 



TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY. 

Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse 
E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse, 
Lord, man, there's lasses there wad 
Ijrce 

A hermit's fancy, 
A-'d down the gat<:, in faith, they're 
worse, 

An' mair unchancy. 

But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's, 
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews, 
Till some bit callan bring me news 

That you are there, 
And if we dinna hand a bouze, 

I'se ne'er drink mair. 

' Chips. '^ Bankrupts. 

3 Whip. 4 Decent, 5 Crowd. 

8 Farm-yard gates. 

' Fluttering with rags. 8 Murmur. 



It'*s no I hke to sit an' swallow, 
I'hen like a swine to puke an' wallow, 
But gie me just a true good fallow 

Wi' right uigine,' 
And spunkie ance to make us mellow, 

And then we'll shine. 
Now, if ye're ane o' warl's folk, 
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak. 
An' sklent on poverty ihtir joke, 

Wr bitter sneer, 
Wi' you no friendship wdl I troke, 

Nor cheap nor dear. 
But if, as I'm informed weel. 
Ye hate, as ill's the vera Deil, 
The flinty heart that canna feel- 
Come, Sir, here's tae vdu ; 
Hae, there's my haun', I wiss^'you 
weel. 

And guid be wi' you. 



ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT 
DUNDAS, ESQ., OF ARNIS- 
TON, LATE LORD PRESI- 
DENT OF THE COURT OF 
SESSION. 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying 
flocks 

Shun the fierce stonns among the shel- 
tering rocks : 

Down from the rivulets, red with dash- 
ing rains. 

The gathering floods burst o'er the 
distant plains ; 

Beneath the blasts the leafless forests 
groan ; 

The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye 
caves. 

Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling 
waves ! 

Unheard, unseen, by human ear or 
eye. 

Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 

Where to the whistling bla.-t and 
waters' roar. 

Pale Scotia's recent wound I may A".- 
plore. 

' Genius, or disposition. * WvAk 



ijS 



WORKS Ox"^ BURNS. 



O heavy loss, thy country ill could 
bear ! 

A loss these evil days can ne'er re- 
pair ! 

Justice, the high vicegerent of her 
God, 

Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd 
her rod ; 

Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow 

She sunk, abandon'd to the wildest 
woe. 

Wrongs, injuries from many a dark- 
some den, 

Now gay in hope explore the paths of 
men : 

See from his cavern grim Oppression 
rise, 

And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes ; 

Keen on the helpless victim see him 

fly. 

And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting 
cry: 

Mark rufifian Violence, distain'd with 

crimes. 
Rousing elate in these degenerate 

tunes ; 
View unsuspecting Innocence a prey. 
As guileful Fraud points out the erring 

way : 
While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue 
The life-blood equal sucks of Right and 

Wrong : 
Hark, injured Want recounts th' ^n- 

listen'd tale, 
And much-wrong'd Mis'ry pjurs th' 

unpitied wail ! 

Ye dark waste hills, and brown un- 
sightly plains, 

To you 1 sing my grief-inspired strains : 

Ye tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, 
roll ! 

Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 

Life's social haunts and pleasures I 
resign. 

Be nameless wilds and lonely wander- 
ings mine, 

To mourn the woes my country must 
endure. 

That wound degenerate ages cannot 
cure. 



TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ. 

O, COULD I give thee India's wealth. 

As I this trifle send ! 
Because thy joy in both would be 

To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream ; 
Then take what gold could never buy— 

An honest Bard's esteem. 



ON THE DEATH OF 
A LAP-DOG, NAMED ECHO. 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your heavy loss deplore ; 
Now half-extinct your powers of sopg, 

Sweet Echo is no more. 

Ye jarring, screeching things around. 
Scream your discordant joys ; 

Now half your din of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies. 



THE KIRK'S ALARM.* 

A SATIRE. 

Orthodox, orthodox, 
Wha believe in John Knox, 

* Steward to the Duke of Queensberry. ! 

^ It is impossible to look back now 
to the civil war which then raged 
among the churchmen of the west ot 
Scotland, without confessing that on 
either side there was nuich to regret, 
and not a little to blame ; and no one 
can doubt that, in the, at best, unset- 
tled state of Robert Burns' principles, 
the unhappy effect must have been 
powerful indeed, as to him. M'Gill and 
Dalrymple, the two miniiters of the 
town of Ayr, had long been suspected of 
entertaining heterodox opinions. The 
gentry of the country took, for the 
most part, the side of M'Gill ; the bulk 
of the lower orders espoused thfl 
cause of those who conducted tlie pro 
secution against this erring Doctor, 



A SATIRE. 



»1« 



l^t me sound an alarm to your con- 
science — 
There's a heretic blast, 
Has been blawn i' the wast, 
Th^t what is not sense must be non- 
sense. 

Drctor Mac, Doctor Mac, 

Ye should stietch on a rack. 
To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 

To join faith and sense, 

Upon "ny pretence, 
li heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 

It was mad, I declare. 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 

Provost John is still deaf 

To the Church's relief. 
And orator Bob ' is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, 

Tho' your heart's like a child, 
And your life like the new-driven snaw. 

Yet that winna save ye. 

Old Satan must have ye. 
For preaching that three's anean' twa. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons. 

Seize your spiritual guns, 
Ammunition ye never can need ; 

Your hearts are the stuff. 

Will be powder enough. 
And your skulls are storehouses of lead. 

Rumble John, Rumble John,* 
Mount the steps wi' a groan, 

Gavin Hamilton, and all persons of 
his stamp, were, of course, on the side 
of M'Gill; Auld, and the Mauchline 
Elders, with his enemies. Mr. Robert 
Aiken, a writer in Ayr, had the prin- 
cipal management of M 'Gill's cause. 
He was .m intimate friend of Hamilton, 
and through him had formed an ac- 
quaintance which now ripened into a 
wirm friendship with Burns. M'Gill, 
Dalrymple, and their brethren, were 
ihfi New-Light Pastors of his earliest 
" Satires." — Lockkari's Life of Burns, 
p 5o. 

* R'^bert Aiken, agent, or, as we 
fk.^'iVJ say attorney for Dr. M'Gill. 

* Jo.-in Ki?sel], with the loud voice. 



Cry, the book is with heresy craram'd. 
Then lug out your ladle, 
Deal brimstone like adle,' 

And roar every note o' the damn'd. 
Simper James, Simper Jumes,^ 
Leave the fair Kilhe dames. 

There's a holier chase in your view ; 
I'll lay on >'our head. 
That the pack ye'll soon lead. 

For puppies like you there's but few. 

Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie,^ 

Are ye herding the penny. 
Unconscious what danger awaits? 

With a jump, yell, and howl. 

Alarm every soul, 
For Hannibal's just at your gates. 

Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk,^ 

Ye may slander the book, 
And the book nought the waur — let ma 
tell you ; 

Tho' ye're rich and look big. 

Yet lay by hat and wig, 
And ye'll hae a calfs-head o' sma' value. 

Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie.S 

What mean ye? what mean ye? 
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter 

Ye may hae some pretence 

To havins and sense 
Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose,^ 
Ye hae made but toom roose, 

In hunting the wicked Lieutenant ; 
But the Doctor's your mark, — 
For the Lord's haly ark. 

He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pi« 
in 't. 
Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster,^ 
For a saunt if ye muster. 

It's a sign they're no nice o' recn'its, 
Yet to worth let's be just. 
Royal blood ye might boast, 

If the ass was the king o' the bnites. 

Mulrland Jock, Muirland Jock,8 
When the L makes a rock. 



' Stagnant water. 'James M'Kinla, 
3 Alexander Moodie. ■* Dr. Mitchell. 

5 Stephen Young, I'.arr. 

6 Mr. Young. 7 \s\r. Grant. 
8 Mr. John Sheppard. 



L40 



ii^ORKS OF BURNS. 



to ousl. Ccmmoii Sense Tor her sins; 

If ill manners were wit, 

There's no mortal so fit, 
To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Cessnockside, Cessnockside,' 
Wr your turkey-cock pride, 

O' manhood but sma' is your share ; 
Yeve the figure, it's true, 
Ev'n our faes maun allow, 

And your friends daurna say ye hae 
mair. 

Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld,^' 

There's a tod 3 i' the fauld, 
A tod meikle waur than the clerk ;< 

Tho" ye downa do skaith, 

Ye'U be in at the death, 
And jf ye canna bite, ye can bark. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 

Wi' your priest-skelping turns, 
Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 

Tho" your Muse is a gipsy. 

Yet were she ev'n tipsy, 
She could ca' us nae waur than we are.5 



DAINTIE DAVIE. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' Howers, 
To deck her gay, green-spreadin^ 

bowers ; 
And now come in my happy hours. 
To wander wi' my Davie, 



* Mr. G. Smith. = Of Mauchline. 

3 Fox. ^ Gavin Hamilton. 

5 The chosen champions of theAfdd 
Light, in Ayrshire, presented, in many 
particulars of personal conduct and 
demeanour, as broad a mark as ever 
lempted the shafts of a satirist. That 
Burns has grossly overcharged the por- 
ir:uxs of them, deepening the shadows 
that were sufficiently dark, and exclud- 
ing altogether those brighter, and per- 
haps softer, traits of character which 
redeemed the originals within the sym- 
pathies of many of the worthiest and 
test of men, seems equally clear. — 
Locfduirt, p. 62. 



Meet me on the warlock-knowR,' 
Daintie Davie, daintie Davie, 
There I'll spend the day wi' you.. 
My ain dear daintie L)avie. 
The crystal waters round us fa'. 
The merry birds are lovers a". 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wandering wi' my Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 
When purple morning starts the hare. 
To steal upon her early fare, 
Then through the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu" Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o" Nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best. 
And that's my ain dear Davie, 
ftleet me, &c. 



THE SELKIRK GRACE." 

Some hae meat, and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it ; 

But we hae meat and we can eat. 
And sae the Lord be thankit. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF 
PEG NICHOLSON. 

Peg Nicholson wasagude bay mare^ 

As ever trode on airn ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith. 

An' past the mouth o' Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was .1 gude bay mare, 
An' rode thro' thick an' thin ; 

But now she's floating down the Nith, 
An' wanting ev'n the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 
An' ance she bare a priest ; 

^ A knoll where wizards have ht Id 
tryste. 

^ Said by Burns, at the reijuest ol 
the Earl of Selkirk. 



EPli RAMS, b^c. 



But now she's flo.uing down the Ni' i, 

Yox Solway fisli a feast. 
Peg Nicholson was a gude bay m- e. 

An' the priest lie rode her sair ; 
All' iiicikle oppress'd an' bruise'' she 
was, 

As priesl-rid cattle are. 



ON 
SEEINO MISS FONTEr-iLLE 
IN A FAVOURITE CHARj>XTER. 

Sweet na'iveie of feature, 

Simple, wild, enchanting *>'^, 
Not to thee, but thanks to N iture. 

Thou art acting but thyse'^. 
Wert thou awkward, stiff, a fected. 

Spurning nature, torturin ; art ; 
Loves and graces all rejec^»;d. 

Then indeed thou'd'st act a part. 



THE 
LEAGUE AND COVENANT.^ 

The Solemn League and Covenant 
Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland 
tears : 
But it seal'd Freedom's sacred cause — 
If thou 'rt a slave, indulge thy 
sneers. 



ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. 

Talk not to me of savages. 

From Afric's burning sun, 
No savage e'er could rend my heart. 

As, Jessy, thou hast done. 
But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight. 
Not ev'n to view the Heavenly choir, 

■Would be io blest a sight. 

* In reply to a gentleman v/ho un- 
dervalued the sufferings of Scotland 
** for coB*;ience' sake." 



EPITAPH 
ON MISS JESSY LEWARS.' 

Sav, Sages, what's the charm on earth 
Can turn Death's dart aside ? 

It is not purity and worth. 
Else Jessy had not died. 



THE RECOVERY OF JESSY 
LEWARS. 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth. 

The natives of the sky, 
Yet still one Seraph s left on earth. 

For Jessy did not die. 



THE TOAST. 

Fill me with the rosy wine. 
Call a toast, a toast divine ; 
Give the Poet's darling flame. 
Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
Then thou mayest freely boast. 
Thou hast given a peerless toast. 



THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON. 

As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in't but few; 
As cauld a minister's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a' be het ^ ere I come back. 



INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 

There's death in the cup — sae beware ! 
Nay, more — there is danger in toucli- 
ing; 
But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 
The man and his wine sae bewitch, 
ing ! 



* Playfully written, when she »a« 
indisposed. 
2 Hot. 



M» 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



TO MISS C— WRITTEN ON A 
BLANK LEAF OF ONE OF 
MISS HANNAH MORE'S 
WORKS. 

Tiiou flattering mark of friendship 
j kind, 

Still may thy pages call to mind 

j The dear, the beauteous donor : 

■ Though sweetly female every part, 

; Yet such a head, and more the heart. 

Does both the sexes honour. 

She show'd her taste refined and just 

When she selected thee. 
Vet deviating, own I must. 
For so approving me. 

But kind still, I'll mind »till 
j The giver in the gift ; 

j I'll bless her and wiss her 

i A Friend above the Lift.* 



THE BOOK-WORMS.'' 

'J'hk:mgh and through the inspired 
leaves, 

\\; maggots, make your windings ; 
But, oh 1 respect his Lordship's taste, 

And spare his golden bindings. 



WILLIE CHALMERS.3 

Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride. 
And eke a braw new brechan,'» 

My Pegasus I'm got astride, 
And up Parnassus pechin ; 5 



' Sky. 

* Suggested by a splendidly boimd, 
but worm-eaten copy of Shakspeare. 

3 Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayr- 
Bhiie, a particular friend of mine, asked 
me to write a poetic epistle to a young 
lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her, 
but Aas scarcely acquainted w-ih her, 
»nd wrote as follows. — R. B. 

•> With new 'oridli and collat 

5 i 'anting. 



Whiles owre a bush wP doucirsftf 

crush, 
Thr doited beastie stammers; 
Then v.p he gets, and off he sets. 
For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'i nam« 

May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
I am nae stranger to your fame. 

Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet. 

His honest heart enamours. 
And, faith, ye'll no be lost a whit, 

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 

Auld Tmth hersel' might swear ye'T« 
fair. 

And Honour safely back her. 
And Modesty assume your air. 

And ne'er a ane mistak her : 
And sic twa love-inspiring een 

Might lire ev'n holy Palmers ; 
Nae wonder then they've fatal been 

To honest Wilhe Chalmers. 

I doubt nae fortune may you shore 

Some mim-mou'd^ pouthered priestie; 
Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore. 

And band upon his breastie : 
But, oh ! what signifies to you, 

His lexicons and grammars ; 
The feeling heart's the royal blue. 

And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Some gapin' glowrin countra laird 

May warsle for your favour; 
May claw his lug, and straik his beard, 

And hoast up some palaver ; 
My bonny maid, before ye wed 

Sic clumsy-witted hammers. 
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelj 

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Forgive the Bard ! my fond regard. 

For ane that shares my bosom, 
Inspires nij' Muse to gie 'm his dues. 

For c" ;il a hair I roose ^ him. 
May powers aboon unite you soon. 

And fructify your amours, — 
And every year come in rf.air dear 

To you and Willie Chalmers 



' Gtntle-moMthed. 



'Praise. 



EPIGRAMS, dr^r. 



»43 



OX ROBERT RIDDEL. 

Vo Riddel, much-lamented man, 

This ivied cot was dear ; 
Reader, dost value matchless worth ? 

The ivied cot revere. 



TO JOHN TAYLOR.* 

With Pegasus upon a day, 

Apollo, weary flying, — 
Through frosty hills the journey lay. 

On foot the way was plying. 
Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a soiry walker ; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes, 

To get a frosty calker. 
Obliging Vulcan fell to work, 

Threw by his coat and bonnet, 
And did Sol's business in a crack ; 

Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Ve Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 

Pity my sad disaster ; 
My Pegasus is poorlj- ahod — 

I'll pay you like my master. 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK- 
NOTE. 

The following verses, in the hand- 
writing of Burns, were copied from a 
bank-note, in the possession of Mr. 
James F. Oracle, of Dumfries. The 
note is of the Bank of Scotland, and is 
dated on the ist of March, 1780. 

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed 

leaf! 
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief! 
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass ! 
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass. 

* Burns, during one of his excise 
journeys, on a winter day, found it ne- 
cessary to get his horse's shoes "rough- 
ed." The blacksmith was very busy ; 
and the Poet sought Mr. Taylor's in- 
fluence in obtaining his aid. 



I see the children of affliction 
Unaided, thro' thy curs'd restriction. 
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile. 
Amid his hapless victim's spoil, 
Anci for thy potence vainly wish'd. 
To crush the villain in the dust. 

For lack o' thee I leave this much-lov'd 
shore. 

Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland 
more. 



BURNS— EXTEMPORE. 

Ve true 'Loyal Natives," attend to 

my song, 
In uproar and riot rejoice the night 

long; 
From envy and hatred your corps is 

exempt : 
But where is your shield from the darts 

of contempt ? 



REMORSE.* 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our 

peace. 
That press the soul, or wring the mind 

with anguish. 
Beyond comparison, the worst are those 
That to our folly, or our guilt, we owe. 

' The political fever ran high in 1794, 
and a member of a club at 'Dumfries, 
called the Loyal Natives, in a violent 
paroxysm, produced some verses to 
which Burns gave the extempore reply. 

* I entirely agree with that judicious 
philosopher, Mr. Smith, in his excellent 
"Theory of Moral Sentiments," that 
remorse is the most painful sentiment 
that can embitter the human bosom. 
Any ordinary pitch of fortitude may 
bear up tolerably well under these ca- 
lamities in the procurement cf which 
we ourselves have had no hand ; but 
when our own follies or crimes have 
made us miserable and wretched, to 
bear up \yitli manly firmness, and at 
the same time have a proper penitential 
sense of our misconduct, is a glorioiu 
effort jf self-command.— R. B. 



VVORKS OF BURNS. 



In every other circumstance, the mind 

Has this to say — " It was no deed of 
mine ; " 

But when to all the evil of misfortune 

This sting is added — "Blame thy 
foolish self!" 

Or worser far, the pangs of keen Re- 
morse ; 

The torturing, gnawing consciousness 
of guilt — 

Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved 
others ; 

The young, the innocent, who fondly 
lov'd us ; 

V»y, more, that very love their cause 
of ruin ! 
» burning hell ! in all thy store of 

torments, 
''here's not a keener lash ! 

*^ives there a man so lirm, who, while 
his heart 

Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 

Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 

And, after proper purpose of amend- 
ment, 

Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to 
peace ? 

O, happy ! happy ! enviable man ! 
j O glorious magnanimity of soul I 



TO 



Mossgiel, , 1786. 

Sir, 
Yours this moment I unseal. 

And faith I'm gay and hearty ! 
To tell the truth an' shame the Deil, 

I am as fu' as Bartie :' 
But foorsday. Sir, my promise leal 

Expect me o' your party, 
If on a beastie I can speel,^ 

Or hurl in a cartie. R. B. 



IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE. 

In vain would Prudence, with decorous 

sneer, 
Point out a cens'ring world, and bid 

me fear ; 

• A proverb for a drinker. ' Climb. 



Above that world on wings of love 1 ri- e, 
I know its worst — and do that v/orst 

despise. 
"Wrong'd, injur'd, shunn'd, unpilie.i, j 

unredrest, — i 

The mock'd quotation of the scorner'a 

jest," 
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me 

fall, 
Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays tliom 

all! 



THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE,' 

Though fickle Fortune has deceiv'd me, 
She promis'd fair and perform'd but 
ill; 
Of mistress, friends, and wealth be- 
reav'd me, 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me 
still.— 

I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able, 

But if success I must never find. 
Then come, Misfortune, I bid thee wel- 
come, 
I'll meet thee with an undaunted 
mind. 



* The above was an extempore, under 
the pressure of a heavy train of 
misfortunes, which, indeed, threatened 
to undo me altogether. It was just 
at the close of that dreadful period 
before mentioned (March, 1784) ; and 
though the weather has brightened up 
a little with me since, yet there has 
always been a tempest brewing round 
me in the grim sky of futurity, which 
I pretty plainly see will some time or 
other, perhips ere long, overwlielm 
me, and drive me into S'jme doleful dell, 
to pine in solitary, squalid wretch- 
edness. However, as I hope my 
poor country Muse, who, all rustiC; 
awkward, and unpolished as she is, 
has more charms for me than any othei 
of the pleasures of life beside — as I lioi>e 
she will not then desert me, I may 
even then learn to be, if not linppy, at 
least easy, and stnvik a iatig tusjothfl 
my misery. — K B, 



EPIGRAMS, 6^c. 



MS 



I BURxS, I BURN.* 

' I BURN, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd 

corn, 
Ky driving winds the crackling flames 

are borne," 
Now maddening, wild, I curse that 

fatal night ; 
Now bless the hour which charm'd my 

guilty sight. 
In vain the laws their feeble force op>- 

pose : 
Cliain'd at his feet they groan. Love's 

vanquish' 1 foes ; 
\i\ vain Religion meets my sinking eye ; 
J dare not combat— but I turn and fly; 
Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhal- 
lowed fire ; 
1 ove grasps his scorpions — stifled they 

expire ! 
Iwcason drops headlong from his sacred 

throne, 
/our dear idea reigns and reigns alone : 
Each thought intoxicated homage 

yields, 
A.nd riots wanton in forbidden fields ! 

By all on high adoring mortals know ! 
By »M the conscious villain fears below ! 
By your dear self ! — the last great oath 

I swear ; 
N^or life nor soul were ever half so 
dear ! 



TAM THE CHAPMAN." 

is Tarn, the Chapman, on a day 
Wi' Death forgatl.er'd by the way, 
Weel picas'd, he greets a wight sae 

famous, 
And Death was nae less pleased wi' 

'I'homas, 
Wia cheerfully lays down the pack. 
And there blaws up a hearty crack ; 



* To Clarinda. 

' Mr. Kennedy, who is styled "Chap- 
van,'' in allusion to his connexion with 
«. m^'vcantile house, as agent. 



His social, friendly, honest he.irt, 
Sae tickled Death they could na part: 
Sae after viewing knives and garters. 
Death takes him hame to gic him quar 
ters. 



TO DR. MAXWELL, ON MISS 
JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY.' 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave. 

That merit I deny: 
You save fair Jessy from the grave ! 

An Angel could not die. 



THE PARVENU, 

WRITTEN IN REPLY TO THE P.OASTINGS 
OF AN ILL-EDUCATED COXCOMB, WHO 
WAS BORING THE CO.MTANV WITH AN 
ACCOUNT OK THE MANY GREAT PEO- 
PLE HE HAD BEEN VISITING. 

No more of your titled acquaintances 

boast, 

And in what lordly circles youVe 

been ; 

An insect is still but an insect at most, 

Tho' it crawl on the head of a queen 



TO THE OWL. 

BY JOHN m'CREDDIE.' 

Sad Bird of Night, what sorrow calls 
thee forth, 
To vent thy plaints thus in the mid- 
night hour ; 
Is it some blast that j^athers in the north, 
Threat'ning to nip the verdure of thy 
bow'r ? 
!«• it, sad Owl, that Autumn strips the 
ihade. 
And leaves thee here, unshelter'd 
and forlorn 1 

* " Dr. Maxwell," says Bums in a' 
letter to Thomson, " was the physician 
who seemingly saved her from tha 
grave ; " and -iccordingly the pc2t wrote 
the above ;pip;rain. 

^ Mr M'Creddie is supposed to be a 
mythical per'-ona<^'j, t*-; V'=-.ses havir^ 
beenfc-jnd 'u\. thjenai-ii-w/icuigof Eurns 



t4« 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



I Or fear that Winter will thy nest in- 

I vade ? 

,' Or friendly Melancholy bids thee 

! mourn ? 

f Shut out, lone Bird, from all the 
feather d train, 
To tell thy sorrows to th' unheeding 
gloom ; 
No friend to pity when thou dost com- 
plain. 
Grief all thy thought, and solitude 
thy home. 
Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy 
strain, 
And pleased in sorrow b'sten to thy 
i ^ scng : 

[ Sing on, sad mourner ! to the night 

complain, 
While the lone echo wafts thy notes 
alcng. 
Is beauty less, when down the glow- 
ing cheek 
Sad piteous tears in native sorrows 
fall? 
Less kind the heart, when Sorrow bids 
it break ? 
Less happy he who lists to Pity's 
call? 

Ah no, sad Owl ! nor is thy voice less 
sweet. 
That Sadness tunes it, and that Grief 
is there ; 
That Spring's gay notes, unskill'd, thou 
canst repeat ; 
And Sorrow bids thee to the gloom 
repair. 
Nor that the treble songsters of the day. 
Are quite estranged, sad Bird of 
niglit ! from thee ; 
Nor that the thrush deserts the evening 
spray. 
When darkness calls thee from thy 
reverie. 

From some old tower, thy melancholy 

dome, 
" While the grey walls and desert 

solitudiis 
Return each note, responsive, to the 

gloom 
Of ivied coverts and surrounding 

woods; 



There hooting, I will list . loie plcised 
to thee. 
Than ever lover to the nightingale ; 
Or drooping wretch, oppreis'd with 
misery. 
Lending his ear to some condoling 
tale. 



WAS E'ER PUIR POEr.^ 

"Was e'er puir Poet sae befitted, 
The maister drunk — the horse com- 
mitted : 
Puir harmless beast ! tak thee nae care, 
Thou'lt be a horse, when he's nae mair 
(mayor)." 



THERE'S NAETHING LIKE 
THE HONEST NAPPY, 

There's naething like the honest ' 

nappy ! I 

Whaur'U ye e'er see men sae happy, i 

Or women sonsie, saft, an' sappy, 

'Tween morn and morn, 
As them wha like to taste the drappie 

In glass or horn. 
I've seen me daez't upon a time ; 
I scarce could wink or see a styme ;* 
Just ae hauf muchkin^ does me prime. 

Ought less is little ; 
Then back I rattle on the rhyme 

As g leg's a whittle ! 



TO THE RUINS OF LI NCI U 
DEN ABBEY.4 

Ve holy walls, that still sublinie 
Resist the crumbhng touch of Time, 



* Bun s once visited Carlisle ; ai^<f 
while he was in the condition wlii .h 
his verses describe, the J.Iayor put bi» 
horse, which had trespassed on a cor- 
poration meadow, into the " pound." 

^ Glimmer. ^ Half-a-piut. 

^ On the banks of the river (Jluden, 
near Dumfries. The verses wei» 



POEMS. 



»«r 



I Tow strongl}' still your f< rni displays 
I'lie i)iety of ancient days. 
As through your ruins, hoai and grey — 
Ruins, yet beauteous in decay — 
The silvery moonbeams trembling fly, 
Th'; forms of ages long gone by 
Crowd thick on Fancy's wond'ring eye, 
Anrl wake tiie soul to musings high. 
Ev'n now, as lost in thought profound, 
I view the solt;mn scene around. 
And pensive gaze with wistf-il eyes, 
The past returns, the present flies ; 
Again the dome, in pristine pride. 
Lifts high its roof, and arches wide, 
That, knit with curious trarery 
Each Gotliic ornament disp'ay ; 
The high-arched windows, painted fair, 
Show many a saint and martyr there ; 
As on their slender forms I gaze, 
Methinks they brighten to a blaze ; 
With noiseless step and taper bright. 
What are yon forms that meet my sight? 
Slowly they move, while every eye ^ 
Is heavenward raised in ecstasy : — 
'I'is the fair, spotless, vestal train, 
That seeks ir prayer the midnight fane. 
And hark ! what more than mortal sound 
Of music breathes ihe pile around ? 
'Tis the soft-chaunted choral song. 
Whose tones the echomg aisles prolong: 
Till thence return'd they softly stray 
O'er Cluden's wave with fond delay ; 
Now on the rising gale swell high. 
And now in fainting murmurs die : 
The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream. 
That glistens in the pale moon's beam. 
Suspend their dashing oars to hear 
The holy anthem, loud and clear ; 
Each world! )• thought awhile forbear, 
Andmutter forth a half-formed prayer. 
But as 1 gaze, the vision fails, 
Like frost-work touch'd by southern 

gales ; 
The altar sinks, the tapers fade, 
And ail the splendid scene's decay d. 
In window fair the painted pane 
No louder glows with holy stain. 
But, thr(>u.;h theb-oken glass, the gale 
Blows chilly from the misty vale. 



nscribed to Burns by an anonymous 
writer, and Axt included in later editions 
rf his works. 



The bira of eve flits sullen by, 
Her home, these aisles and arches high 
'Ihe choral hymn, that erst so clear 
Broke softly sweet on Fancy's ear. 
Is drown'd amid the mournful scream 
'J'hat breaks the magic of my dream : 
Roused by the sound, I start and see 
The ruin'd, sad reality. 



PROLOGUE. 



SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS, 
ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT 

MONDAY, AFRIL l6, I787. 

When by a generous Public's kind 
acclaim. 

That dearest meed is granted — honest 
fame : 

When here your favour is the actor's 
lot. 

Nor ev'n the man in private life forgot ; 

What breast, so dead toheav'nly virtue's 
glow, 

But heaves impassion'd with the grate- 
ful throe ? 
Poor is the task to please a barb'roua 
throng. 

It needs no Siddons' power in South- 
ern's song : 

But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 

For genius, learning high, as great iu 
war — 

Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 

Before whose suns I'm honourd to ap- 
pear ! 

Where every science, every nobler 
art— 

That can inform the mind, or mend 
the heart, 

Is known ; as grateful nations oft have 
foimd. 

Far as the rude barbarian marks the 
bound. 

Philosfjphy, no idle, pedant dream. 

Here holds hersearch, by heaven-taught 
Reason's beam ; 



\ Ascribed to Uums on very slight 
evidence. 



148 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Here History paints, with elegance 
and force, 

The tide of Empire's fluctuating course : 

Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare 
into plan, 

And Harjey rouses all the God in man. 

When well-form'd taste and sparkling 
wit unite, 

With manly lore, or female beauty 
bright 

(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and 
grace. 

Can only charm us in the second place), 

Witness my heart, how oft with pant- 
ing fear. 

As on this night, I've met these judges 
here ! 

But still the hope Experience taught to 
live, 

Equal to judge — you're candid to for- 
give. 

No hundred-headed Riot here we meet. 

With decency and law beneath his feet. 

Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's 
name ; 

Like Caledonians, you applaud or 
blame. 
O Thou, dread Power ! whose em- 
pire-giving hand 

Has oft been stretch'd to shield the 
honour'd land ! 

Strong may she glow with all her an- 
cient fire ; 

May every son be worthy of his sire ; 

Firm may she rise with generous dis- 
dain 

At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's, 
chain ; 

Still self-dependent in her native shore. 

Bold may she brave grim Dangers 
loudest roar 

Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to 
be no more ! 



TRAGIC FRAGMENT.' 

"All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 
A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting 
villain, 

' In my narly years nothing less would 
kervi me than courting the Tragic 



Still my heart melts at human wretch' 
edness ; 

And with si-icere, tho' unavailing, sighs 

I view the helpless children of disti ess. 

With tears indignant I behold the op- 
pressor 

Rejoicing in the honest man's destruc- 
tion, 

Whose unsubmitting heart was all his 
crime. 

Ev'n you, ye helpless crew, I pity you ; 

Ye, whom the seeming good think sin 
to pity ; 

Ye poor.despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds, 

Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er 
to Ruin. 

but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends, 

1 had been driven forth like you, for- 

lorn. 

The most detested, worthless wretch 
among you ! 

O injur'd God ! thy goodness has en- 
dow'd me 

With talents passing most of my com- 
peers. 

Which I in just proportion have abus'd 

As far surpassing other common vil- 
lains. 

As Thou in natural parts hadst givaa 
me more." 



O CAN YE LABOUR LEA. 

O CAN ye labour lea, young man. 

An' can ye labour lea ; 
Gae back the gate ye c«im' again, 

Ye'se never scorn me. 

Muse. I was, I think, about .-^ightcei. 
or nineteen when I i ketched the out- 
lines of a tragedy, forsooth : but the 
bursting of a cloud of family misfor- 
tunes, which had for some time thieat- 
ened us, prevented my further pro- 
gress. In those days I never w»ote 
down anything ; so, except a speech 
or two, the whole has escaped my 
memory. I'he following, which I most 
distinctly remember, was an exclam- 
ation from a great character — great in 
occasional instances of generosity, and 
daring at times in villanies. — R. B. 



POEMS. 



149 



I feed a man at Martinmas, 

Wi' airl '-pennies three ; 
An' a' the faut I fan' wi' him, 

He couldna labour lea. 

The stibble rig is easy plcagh'd, 

The fallow land is free ; 
But wha wad keep the handless coof. 

That couldna labour lea ? 



O Thou, in whom we live and move. 
Who mad'st the sea and shore ; 

Thy goodness constantly we prove. 
And grateful would adore. 

And if it please thee, Pow'r above 1 
Still grant us with such store. 

The friend we trust, the fair we lov«i 
And we desire no more 



* Silver penny given as hiring 



SONGS. 



THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE.* 



TUNE- 



MISS FORBES'S FAREWELL TO BANFF.' 



TwAS even — the devry fields were 
green, 

On every blade the pearls hang, 
The Zephj'rs wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In everj' glen the Mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the while, 
Except where green- wood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Balloclimyle. 

With careless step I onward stray'd, 
My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 

\Vhen musing in a lonely glade, 
A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 

Her look was like the morning's eye, 
Her air like nature's vernal smile, 

* "The Lass of Ballochmyle" was 
Miss Alexander, whose brother had re- 
cently come to reside in iJallochmyle 
House, of which the pleasure grounds 
extend along the north bank of the Ayr. 
The farm of Burns, Mossgiel, was in 
the immediate neighbourhood. — He ifi- 
closed a copy of the song to Miss Alex- 
ander, and was extremely indignant 
at the lady's silence respecting his let- 
ter. Of the verses his own opinion was 
justly high: — "I think myself," he 
told Mrs. Stewart of Stair, " it has some 
merit, both as a tolerable description 
of one of Nature's scenes — a July even- 
ing, and one of the finest pieces of 
Nature's workmanship, — the finest in- 
deed we know anything of— an amiable, 
beautiful young woman." 



Perfection whisper'd, passing by, 
" Behold the Lass o' Ballochmyle !* 

Fair is the mom in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in Autumn mild, 
When roving thro' the garden gay. 

Or wandering in a lonely wild : 
But Woman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does com- 
pile ; 
Ev'n there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle. 

O, had she been a country maid. 

And 1 the happy country swain, 
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain : 
Thro' weary WiTiter's wind and rain. 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

I'he bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry 
steep, 
^Vhere fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the 
deep, 
Or downward seek the Indian tnir.e : 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil. 
And every day have joys divine 

With the bonnie Lass o' Balloch- 
myle.» 



* Under the aboVe song is wiitien 
Miss Willie Alexander." 



SONGS. 



SONG OF DEATH.* 

A GAELIC AIR. 

Scene— A. field of battle. Time of the 
day — Evening. The wounded and 
dying of the victorious army are 
supposed to join in the song. 

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green 
earth, and ye skies, 
Now gay with the broad setting sun ! 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye 
dear, tender ties, 
Our race of existence is run ! 
Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's 
gloomy foe ! 
Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! 
but know. 
No terrors hast thou for the brave ! 
• Thou strik'st the dull peasant — he 
sinks in the dark. 
Nor saves e'e n the wreck of a name ; 
Thou strik'st the young hero— a glori- 
ous mark ! 
He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 
In the field of proud honour— our 
swords in our hands. 
Our King and our Country to save — 
While victory shmes on life's last ebb- 
ing sands, 
O ! who would not die with the 
brave ! 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE ! O. 

When o'er the hill the eastern star 
Tells bughtin-time^ is near, my jo; 

• When the pressing nature of public 
affairs called, in 1795, for a general 
arming of the people, Burns appeared 
in the ranks of the " Dumfries Volun- 
teers," employed his poetical talents in 
stimulating their patriotism ; and at 
this season of alarm he brought for- 
jeard the following h>;mn. — (Currie.) 
The song was writfen in 1791. 

' Time of collecting the sheep. 



And owsen * -j-ae the furrow'd field 

Return sae dowf and wearie, O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented birks 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie ! O. 
In mirkest glen, at midnight hou/, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O. 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 

And I were ne'er sae wearie, O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie ! O. 
The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

'Yo rouse the mountain deer, my jo.; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Gie me the liour o' gloaniin' grey. 

It maks my heart sae cheery, Oj 
To meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie ! O. 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 

There's auld Rob Morris that wons' 

in yon glen. 
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale 

of auld men ; 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has 

owsen and kine. 
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and 

mine. 
She's fresh as the morning, the fairest 

in May ; 
She's sweet as the evening amang the 

new hay ; 
As blythe and as artless as lamb on 

the lea, 
And dear to my heart, as the light to 

my e'e. 
But oh ! she's an heiress, auld Robin's 

a laird, 
And my daddie has nought but a cot- 
house and yard ; 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come 

speed ; 
The wound I must hX'.e that will s?OB 

be my dead. 



Oxen. 



" Dwells. 



'5« 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



The d.^y comes to me, but delight 

brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it 

is gane ; 
I wander my lane, like a night-troubled 

ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst 

in my breast. 

had she but beer, of a lower degree, 

1 then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd 

upon me ; 
O how past describing had then been 

my bliss, 
As now my distraction no words can 

express ! 



NAEBODY. 



I HAH a wife o' my ain, 
I'll partake wi' naebody ; 

ril tak cuckold frae nane, 
I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 

i hat a penny to spend, 
There — thanks to naebody; 

I hae naething to lend, 
1 11 borrow frae naebody. 

I atn naebody's lord, 
rU be slave to naebody; 

1 hae a guid braid sword, 

111 tak dunts' frae naebody. 

I" 11 be merry and free, 
I'll be sad for naebody ; 

If naebody care for me, 
I'll care for naebody. 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE 
THING.' 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing, 

' Knocks. 

^ There is a peculiar rhythmus in 
niatiy of our airs, and a necessity of 
adapting syllables to the emphasis, or 
what I would call the featiire-iiotes 
of the tune, that cramp tne poet, and 



She is a bonnie wee thing, 
I'his sweet wee wife o' mins. 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer, 

And neist * my heart 1 '11 wear bet, 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The warld's wrack we share o't. 
The warstle and the care o't; 
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



DUNCAN GRAY.^ 

DuN'CAN Gray came here to woo. 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
On blythe yule 3 night when we we>» 
fou. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Maggie coosf* her head fu' high, 

Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,5 

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh \^ 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



lay him under almost insuperable diffi- 
culties. For instance, in the air, "My 
Wife's a wanton wee Thing," if a few 
lines, smooth and pretty, can be adapt- 
ed to it, it is all you can expect. The 
following were made extempore to it : 
and though, on further study, I might 
give you something more profound, 
yet it might not suit the light-horse 
gallop of the air so well as this r.mdi m 
clink. — Burns to Thomson. 

^ Next. 

^ The foregoing 1 submit to ■r-our 
better judgment; acquit them cv con- 
demn them as seemeth good in yo;ir 
sight. "Duncan Gray" is that kind 
of light-horse gallup of an air which 
precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is 
its ruling feature. — Bi'rns to Thomson, 

3 Christmas. '• Tosserl. £ Ptcud 

6 At a shy distance. 



SONGS. 



Df ,ncaa fleech'd/ and Duncan rray'd ; 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan sigh'd liaith out and in, 
Oiat his een ba-th bleer't and blin',' 
Sp.ik o' lowpin o er a linn; 3 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Time and -hance are but a tide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Slighted love is sair to bide, 

Ha, ha, Szc. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
lor a haughty hizzie die? 
She may gac to — Fiance for me ! 
^ Ha ha, &c. 

How it comes let doctors tell. 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg grew sick — as he grew well. 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Something in he*- bosom wrings. 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spak sic things ! 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace. 

Ha, ha, &c, 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, &c, 
Duncan couklna be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd-* his wrath ; 
Now they're crouse and cantieS baith, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



O POORTITH. 

TUNE— " I HAD A HORSE," 

POORTITH cauld, and restless love. 

Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
Vet poortith a' I could forgive, 
An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. 
O why should fate sic pleasure have, 
Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

* P»e«>ougbt. ^ Bleared and blind. 
3 Precipice. 4 Su othered. 

S Cheerful and merry. 



This warld's wealth w...;n * thiuk n. 
Its pride, and a' the lave o't ; 

Fie, fie on silly coward man. 
That he should be the slave o't. 
O why, &c. 

Her e'en sae bonnie blue betray 
How she repays my passion ; 

But prudence is her o'erword aye. 
She talks of rank and fashion. 
O why, &c. 

O wha can prudence think upon. 

And sic a lassie by him? 
O wha can prudence thhik upon, 

And sae in love as I am? 
O why, &c. 

How blest the hiunble cotter's fate ! 

He woos his simple dearie ; 
The sillie bogles,' wealth and state. 
Can never make them eerie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure have, 
Life's dearest bands untwining ! 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shining? 



GALLA WATER. 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow 
braes. 
That wander thro' the blooming 
heather ; 
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws. 
Can match the lads o' Galla Water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine. 

The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. 
Altho' his daddie was nae laird. 

And tho' I hae nae miekle tocher;* 
Y'et rich in kindest, truest love, 

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. 
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth. 

That coft^ contentment, peace, oi 
pleasure ; 
The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure 



Hobgoblins. ' Marriage portion 
3 Bought. 



»54 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



LORD GREGORY. 



O MIKK, mirk is this midnight hour. 
And loud the tempest's roar ; 

A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r, 
Lord Gregory, — ope thy door. 

An exile frae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it mayna be. 

Ix)rd Gregory, mind'st thou not the 
grove, 

By bonnie Ir\vine side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love, 

I lang, lang had denied ? 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow. 
Thou wad for aye be mine ! 

And my fond heart, itsel sae true, 
It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 

O wilt thou give me rest ! 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love. 

His wrangs to heaven and me ! 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH ! 

WITH ALTERATIONS. 

Oh, open the door, some pity to shew. 
Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 

The' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove 
true, « 

Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 

(Janld is the blast upon my pale cheek. 
But caulder thy love for me, oh ! 

* A friend of Bums writes — "We 
had the song of * Lord Gregory,' which 
I asked for to have an opportunity of 
calling on Burns to recite his ballad to 
that tune. He did recite it, and such 
was the eifect that a dead silence en- 
fued." 



The frost, that freezes the life at m* 
heart. 
Is nought to my pains frn thee, oh ! 

The wan moon is setting behind tha 
white wave. 
And time is setting with me, oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for 
mair 
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh ! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd 
it wide ; 
She sees his pale corse on the plain 
oh ! 
My true love ! she cried, and sank dowp 
by his side. 
Never to rise again, oh ! 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

AIR— "hey, BONNIE LASS, WILL VOO 
LIE IN A BARRACK." 

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill ha> 

gotten ? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill ha? 

gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof ' wi' a claut ^ o' 

siller. 
And broken the heart o' the barUy 

Miller. 

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was 

ruddy ; 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a 

lady; 
The Laird was a widdiefu', blecrit "^ 

knurl ; 
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the 

churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart lea! 
and loving ; 

The Laird did address her wi' matter 
mair moving, 

A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chaii ed 
bridle, 

A whip by her side, and a bonnie side- 
saddle. 

* Blockhead. " A scraf ing. 

3 Crooked, bleared. 



SONGS. 



»55 



O w le oi. tlte siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
And wae on the love that is fixed on a 

mailen ! * 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's 

parle,^ 
But, gie me my love, and a fijj for lie 

warl ! 



JESSIE. 

TUNE— "BONNIE DUNOKE." 

True hearted was he, the sad swain o' 
the Yarrow, 
And fair are the maids on the banks 
o" the Ayr, 
Flit by the sweet side o' the Nith's 
winding river, 
Aie lovers as faithful, and maidens 
as fair : 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland 
all over ; 
To equal young Jessie you seek it in 
vain ; 
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her 
lover, 
And maidenly modesty fixes the 
chain. 

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy 

morning, 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 

Dut in the fair presence o' lovely young 

Jessie, 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 

Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnar- 

Enthron'd in her een he delivers his la'. 
And still to her charms she alone is a 
stranger, — 
Her modest demeanour's the jewel 
of a'. 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

IIeke awa, there awa, wandering 
Willie ; 
Now tired with wandering, haud awa 
hame; 



LOGAN BRAES. 

TUNE — "LOGAN WATER." 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
Thiit day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sins>Tie hae o'er us run. 
Like Logan to the simmer sun ; 
But now thy flow'ry banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes. 

Again the merry month o' May 
Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. 
The bees hum round the breathing 
flowers ; 



* The song was the fniit of "thieo 
quarters of an hour'-> meditation" hf 
the poet in his elbow-chair, on tir* 
wickedness of a:ubition. 



Come to my bosom, my am only dearie. 
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie 
the same. 
Winter winds blew loud and cauld at 
our parting. 
Fear* for my Willie brought the tear 
in my e'e ; 
Now welcome the simmer, and welcome 
my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to 

me! I 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cav* o' : 

your slumbers ; j. 

How your dread howling a lover ,^ 

alarms ! i 

Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye | 

billows, , I 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair 

to my arms. 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na , 

his Nannie, j 

O still flow between us, thou wide- ^ 

roaring main ; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it. 

But, dying, believe that my Willie'* 

my ain. 



IJ< 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye, 
And evening's tears are tears of joy: 
My soul, delightless, a" surveys. 
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes. 
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush : 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile '. 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae male to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes. 
3 w ae upon you, men o' state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye mak monie a fond heart moutn, 
Sae may it on >our heads return ! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widows tears, the orphan's cry? 
But soon inay^peace bring happy days, 
And Willie haine to Logan Braes ! 



THERE WAS A LASS.* 

TUNE — "BONNIE JEAN." 

There was a lass, and she was fair. 

At kirk and market to be seen ; 
When a' the fairest maids were met. 

The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 
And. aye she wrought her mammic's 
wark. 

And aye she sang sae merrily ; 
The blithest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 
But hawks will rob the tender joys 

That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; 
And frost will blight the fairest flowers ; 

And love will break the soundest rest. 
Young Robie was the brawest lad. 

The flower and pride of a" the glen ; 
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye. 

And wanton naigies nine or ten. 
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 

He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ; 
And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 

Her heart was tint, her peace was 
stcwn. 



Miss Jean M'Murdo, of Drumlanrig. 



As in the bosoi.i o' i.^e stream 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en 
So trembling, pure, was tender love 

Within the breast o' bonnie Jean, 
And now she works her mammie's wexJi, 

And aye she sighs wi' care and pain 
Yet wistna what her ail miglit be, 

Or what wad niak her weel again. 

But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, 

And didna joy blink in her e"e, 
As Robie tau.d a tale o" love, 

Ae e'enin on the lily lea? 
The sun was sinking in the west. 

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove • 
His cheek to hers he fondly prest. 

And whisper'd thus his tale o' lo^ e : 

" O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie^s cot. 

And learn to tent the farms wi' me 
"At barn or byre thou shaltna drudj^ 

Or naething else to trouble thoe ; 
But stray amang the heather-bells. 

And tent the waving corn wi' me. 

Now what could artless Jeanie do? 

She had na will to say hi»i na : 
At length she blush'd a sweet conse t^ 

And love was aye betw eeji them ti , 



PHILLIS THE FAIR.* 

TUNE "robin ADAIK." 

While larks with little wing 

Fann'd the pure air. 
Tasting the breathing spring. 

Forth I did fafe : 
Gay the sun's golden eye 
Peep'd o'er the mountains high; 
Such thy morn ! did I cry, 

Phillis the fair. 

In each bird's careless song 

Glad did 1 share ; 
While yon wild flowers among. 

Chance led me there : 
Sweet to the opening day. 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ; 

Said to be the sister of Jean M idj.Ca 



SOJ^GS. 



»S; 



Suth thy b!oom ! did I say, 

Philli<; the fair. 
Down in a shad^ walk, 

Doves cooing were, 
I mark'd the crii'".l hawk 

Caught in a snare : 
So kind may Fortune be. 
Such make his destiny. 
He who would injure thee 

Phillis the fair. 



BY ALLAN STREAM.' 

TUNE — " ALLAN WATER." 

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove 
While Phoebus sank beyond Ben- 
leddi ; 2 
The winds were whispering thro' the 
grove. 
The yellow corn was waving ready : 
1 listen'd to a lover's sang, 
And thought on youthfu' pleasures 



* I walked out yesterday evening, 
with a volume of the "Museum " in my 
hand ; when turning up " Allan Water," 
"What numbers shall the Muse re- 
peat," &c., as the words appeared to 
me rather unworthy of so fine an air, 
and recollecting that it is on your list, 
I sat, and raved, under the shade of 
an old thorn, till I wrote out one to 
suit the measure. I may be wrong, but 
I think it not in my worst style. You 
must know, that in Ramsay's "Tea- 
table," where the modern song first 
appeared, the ancient name of the tune, 
Allan says, is *' Allan Water," or " My 
love Annie's very bonnie." This last 
has certc'iinly been a line of the original 
song ; so I look up the idea, and, as 
ycu will see, have introduced the line 
in its place, which I presume it formerly 
occupied ; though I likewise give you 
a choosi7ig Inte, if it should not hit the 
cut of your fancy. " Bravo," say I : 
" it is a good song." — Burns to Thom- 
son. 

^ A mountain west of Strathallan, 
3000 feet high.— R. B 



And aye the wild-wcod echoes rang — 

O dearly do I love thee, Annie I ' 
O, happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle mak it eerie, 
Nor ever soriow stain the hour. 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast. 

She, sinkmg, said " I am thine for 
ever !" 
While monie a kiss the seal imprest. 

The sacred vow, we ue'er should 
sever. 

The haunt o' spring's the primrose 
brae ; 
The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
How cheery, thro' her shortening day. 
Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 
Oi chain the soul in speechless plea- 
sure. 
Or, thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 
Like meeting her, our bosom's trea* 
sure ! 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO 
YOU, MY LAD. 

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, 

my lad ; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my 

lad : 
Tho" father and mither and a' should 

gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my 
lad. 
But warily tent, when ye come to court 

me. 
And comena unless the back-yett be 

a-jee ; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let nacbody 

see, 
And come as ye werena coming to rac. 
And come, &c. 

At Kirk, orat market, whene'er ye meet 

me. 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'dna a 

flie: 

* Or, "O my Icre Annie's verj 
bonnie." — R. B. 



158 



IVORKS OF BUR]^. 



But steal me a blink o'your bonnie black 

ee, 
Yet look as ye werena lookin at me. 
Yet look, &c. 

O whistle, &c. 
Aye vow and protest that ye carena 

for me, 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty 

a wee ; 
But courtna anither, tho' jokin ye be, 
For fear thai she wyle your fancy 

frae me. 
For fear, &c. 
O whiitle, and I'll come to you, my 

lad; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my 

lad: 
Tho' father and mither and a' should 

gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my 
lad. 



HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE 
YOUR STRIFE. 

TUNE — " JO JANET." 

" Husband, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir ; 
I'ho' I am your wedded wife. 

Yet I am not your slave, sir." 

" One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Is it iiian, or woman, say. 

My spouse, Nancy?" 

" If 'tis still the lordly word. 

Service and obedience ; 
I'll desert my so\''reigu lord. 

And so, good-bye, allegiance ! " 

" Sad will I be, so bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy ! 
Yet I'll try to make a shift, 
My spouse, Nancy." 

'■ My poor heart then break it must. 

My last hour I'm near it : 
When you lay mc in tJie dust. 

Think, think hew you will bear it." 

" I will hope and trust in Heaven, 
Nancy, Nancy ; 



Strength to bear it A'ill lie given. 
My spouse, Nancy." 

" Well, sir, from the silent dead 
Still ril try to daunt you ; 

Ever round your midnight bed 
Horrid sprites shall haunt you.** 

" I'll wed another, like my dear 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Then all hell will fly for fear. 

My spouse, Nancy." 



HAD 1 A CAVE. 

TINE — " ROBIN ADAIK." 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant 

shore, 
\Vhere the winds howl to the waves 
dashing roar ; 
There would I weep my woes, 
There seek my lost repose. 
Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou de- 
clare 
All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting 
as air ? 
To thy new lover hie, 
Laugh o'er thy perjury. 
Then in thy bosom try, 
Whut peace is there ! 



DELUDED SWAIN. 

TUNE— "the collier's DOCHTER." 

Deluded swain, the pleasure. 
The fickle Fair can give thee. 

Is but a fairy treasure. 
Thy hopes will soon deceive thee 

I'he billows on the ocean, 

I'he breezes idly roamin'. 
The clouds' uncertain motion, — 

1'hey are I it types of woman. 

O ! art thou not ashamed 

To doat upon a feature ? 
If man thou wouldst be named, 

Despise the silly creature. 



SONGS. 



Be, lind an honest fellow ; 

Good claret set before thee : 
Hold on till thou art mellow. 

And then to bed in glory. 



SONG. 



TUNE — " THE Quaker's wife." 

I HINE am I, my faithful fair. 
Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 

Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 
Ev'ry roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish : 

'J ho' despair had wrung its core. 
That would heal its anguish. 

Take away these rosy lips. 
Rich with balmy treasure ! 

Turn away thine eyes of love. 
Lest I die with pleasure ! 

What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning ! 
Love's the cloudless summer sun. 

Nature gay adorning. 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?' 

A NEW SCOTS SONG. 
TUNE — "the SUTOR'S DOCHTER." 

Wilt thou be my dearie ? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 

Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 

By the treasure of my soul. 

That's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow that only thou 

Shalt ever be my dearie — 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shalt ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 
Or if thou vdlt na be my ain. 
Say na thou' It refuse me : 
If it winna, canna be. 
Thou for thine may choose me, 

^ Bums considered this to be one of 
tiis best songs. 



Let me, lassie,. quickly die, 
Trusting t'„it thou lo'es me— 
I-assle, let me quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



HERE 13 THE GLEN.» 
tune — "banks of CREE." 

Here is the glen, and here the t>owet 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 

The village bell has toH'd the hour, 
O what can stay my lovely maid ? 

'Tis not Maria's whispering call; 

'Tis but the balmy breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall. 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove 
His little faithful mate to cheer. 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come ? and art thou true I 
O welcome, dear to love and me ! 

And let us all our vows renew. 
Along the flow'ry banks of Cree. 



ON THE SEAS AND FAR 
AWAY.' 

TUNE — "o'er the hills AND FAR 
AWAY." 

How can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my Sailor lad ? 
How can I the thought forego, 
He's on the seas to meet the foe ? 



* I got an air, pretty enough, com- 
posed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, cf 
Heron, which she calls "The Banks 
of the Cree." Cree is a beautiful 
romantic stream ; and as her ladysliip 
is a particular friend of mine, I have 
written this song to it. — R. B. 

^ Burns was at first pleased with these 
verses, but he afterwards thought 
them unequal and "flimsy." And 
his second thoughts were the best. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Let ine wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that's far away. 
On the seas and far away, 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 
When in summer's noon I faint, 
As weary flocks around me pant, 
Haply in this scorching sun 
My Sailor's thund'ring at his gun: 
Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
Mullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate, do with me what you may, 
Kpare but him that's far away ! 

At the starless midnight hour, 

NVlien winter rules with boundless 

power ; 
As the storms the forest tear. 
And thunders rend the howling air, 
Listening to the doubling roar. 
Surging on the rocky shore. 
All I can — I weep and pray, 
For his weal that's far away. 

Peace, thy olive wand extend. 
And bid wild War his ravage end, 
Man with brother man to meet, 
And as a brother kindly greet: 
Then may Heaven with prosp'rous gales 
Fill my Sailor's welcome sails. 
To my arms their charge convey, 
My dear lad that's far away. 
On the seas and far away 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 



HARK ! THE MAVIS. 



TUNE — CA THE VOWES TO THE 
KNOWES." 



Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' them where the burnie rows,* 
My bonnie dearie. 

'Rolls. 



Hark ! the mavis' evening sar^g 
Sounding Clouden's woods amany ! 
Then a faulding let us gang, 
My bonnie dca.r'e. 
Ca' the, &c. 

We'll gae down by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide. 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers, 
Whereat moonshine midijght houii, 
Oer the dewy-bending flowers. 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Ghalst nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou'rt to love and Heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near. 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Fair and lovely as thou art. 
Thou hast stown ' my very heart ; 
I can die — but canna part. 
My bonnie dearie. 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' them where the burnie rows, 
My bonnie dearie. 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME I; ESI 
OF A'.^* 

TUNE — " ONAGH'S WATEK-FALL." 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets. 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'erarching 

Twa laughing ecn o bonnie blue. 
Her smiling, sae vvyling. 

Wad make a wretch fo-get his w e 
What pleasure, what treasure. 

Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 



* Stolen. 

' I'hc lady in wliose honoui Burn* 
composed this song was .vliss Lcriiue», 
of Craigieburn. 



SONGS. 



i6. 



Snch was my Chloris' bonnie face, 
When first her bonnie face I saw, 

An i aye my Chloris' dearest charm, 
She says she lo'es m" best of a'. 

Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ancle is a spy 
Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad make a saint forget the sky ; 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ; 
Ilk feature — auLd Nature 

Declar'd that she could do naemair: 
] [ers are the willing chains o' love. 

By conquering Beauty's sovereign 
law ; 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm. 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy show at sunny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley. 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
Fair beaming, and streaming, 

Her silv^er light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling, 

The amorous thrush concludes his 
sang ; 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw. 
And hear my vows o' truth and love. 

And say thou lo'es me best of a' ? 



MY HANDSOME NELL.' 

TUNE — " I AM A MAN UNMARRIED." 

■ Oh, once I lov'd a bonny lass, 

Ay, and I love her still ; 

* This was Nelly Fitzpatrick, the 
i daughter of the village blacksmith. 

'. "This song," says Burns, "was the 

■ first of my performances, and done at 
an early peiiod of my life, when my 
heart glowed with honest, warm sim- 
plicity — unacquainted and uncorrupted 
with the ways of a wicked world. It 

' has many faults ; but I remember I 

i composed it in a wild enthusiasm of 

j passion ; and to this hour I never re- 

l Ci/Hect it but my heart melts — my blood 

I ftiillies at the ren embrance." 



And while that virtue warms my DiCK-n 
I'll love my handsome Nell. 
Fal, lal de ral, &c. 

As bonny lasses I hae seen. 
And mony full as braw ; * 

But for a modest, gracefu' miea 
The like I never saw. 

A bonny lass, I will .:onfess. 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet , 

And, what is best of a'. 
Her reputation is complete. 

And fair without a flaw. 
She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 

Baith decent and genteel ; 
And then there's something in her gait 

Gars^ ony dress look weel. 
A gaudy dress and gentle air 

May slightly touch the heart ; 
But it's innocence and modesty 

That polishes the dart. 

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
'Tis this enchants my soul ! 

For absolutely in my breast 
She reigns without control. 



HOW LANG AND DREARY. 

TUNE — "CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.'' 

How lang and dreary is the night, 

When 1 am frae my dearie ; 
I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. I 

For oh ! her lanely nights are lang ; ] 

And oh ! her dreams are eerie ; | 

And oh ! her widowtl heart is sair, j 

That's absent frae her dearie. | 

When I think on the lightsome days j 

I spent wi' thee, my dearie ? i 
And now that seas between us roar,— 
How can I be but eerie ? 
For oh, &c. 



Well-dressed 



M;>k'i. 



nr 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ; 

The joyless day how drearie ! 
It wasna sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
For oh, &c. 



LASSIE Wr THE LI.NT-WHITE 
LOCKS. 

TUNE — "ROTHIEMURCHIE's RANT." 



Lassie wi' the lint-white locks 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 

Will thou wi' me tent the flocks? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee, 
1) wilt thou share its joys wi" me, 
And say thou'lt be ray dearie, O ? 
Lassie wi', &c. 

And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower. 
Well to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray. 
The weary shearer's hameward way. 
Thro' yellow waving fields well stray. 
And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
L)isturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; 
tnclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
1 11 comfort thee, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie. 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks ? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ?^ 



' This piece has at least the merit of 
being a regular pastoral : the vernal 
r.ioon, the summer noon, the autumnal 
evening, and tlie winter night, are re- 
gularly roimded. — R. B. 



THE AULD MAN. 

TUNE — " GIL MORICE." 

But lately seen in gladsome gieen. 

The woods rejoic^ the day, 
Thro' gentle showers the Uiughicj 
flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled. 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, m rich array 

Again shall bring them a'. 

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe * 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My tnmk of eild, but buss or bield,' 

Sinks in time's wintry ragi. 
Oh, age has weary days, 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou golden time o" youthfu' prime. 

Why com'st thou not again ? 



THE LOVER'S MORNING SA- 
LUTE TO HIS M1STRESS.3 

TUNE — "dEIL TAK the WARS." 

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, faired 
creature ? 

Rosy morn now lifts his eye. 
Numbering ilka bud which Nature 

Waters wi' the tears o' joy: 

Now thro' the leafy woods. 

And by the reeking floods 
Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly 
stray ; 

The lint white in his bower 

Cliants o'er the breathing flower ; 

The lav'rock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy. 
While the sim and thou arise to bless 
the day. 

Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning* 
Banishes ilk darksome shade. 

Nature gladdening and adorning ; 
Such to me my lovely maid. 

» Thaw. = Without shehvyr. 

3 Miss Lorimer is reported to hav« 
inspired these verses. 



SONGS. 



««3 



When absent frac my fair. 

The murky shades o' care 
f 'ith starless gloom o'ercast my sullen 
sky: 

But when in beauty's light, 

She meets my ravish'd sight. 

When thro' my very heart 

Her beaming glories dart, 
Tis tlien I wake to life, to light, and joy. 



CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. 

TUNK — " LUMPS O' PUDDING." 

Contented wi' little, and cantie ' wi' 

mair. 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and 

care, 
( gie them a skelp* as they're creepm 

a'ang, 
f/V a cog o' guid swats,^ and an auld 

Scottish sang. 
I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome 

thought ; 
But man is a sodger,and life is a faught :* 
My mirth and guid humour are coin m 

my pouch. 
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae 

monarch dare touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be 

my fa', 
A night o' guid fellowship sowthersS 

it a; 
When at theblythe end of our journey 

at last, 
Wbi the deil ever thinks o the road he 

has past ? 
Blind Chance, let her snapper and 

stoyte^ on her way, 
Be't to me, bet frae me, e'en let the 

jad gae : 
Come ease, or ccme travail ; come 

pleasure or pain ; 
My warst word is — "Welcome, and 

welcome again !" 

» Cheerful. » Slap. 

le. ■♦ Fight. 

6 Mistake and stumble. 



FAREWELL, TKOU STREAM. 

TUNE— "NANCVs to THE GREFNWOOD 
CANE." 

Fakewell, thou stream that winding 
flows 
Around Eliza's dwelling ! 

Mcm'ry ! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling : 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 
And yet in secret languish. 

To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, 
Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, \m- 
known, 

I fain my griefs would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 

Ketray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair, 
Nor wilt, nor canst, relieve me ; 

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer. 
For pity's sake forgive me ! 

The music of thy voice I heard. 

Nor wist while it enslav'd mc ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear*!, 

Till fears no more had sav d me : 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghn^i, 

The wheeling torrent viewing, 
'Mid circling horrors sinks ai last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



' Jug of good ale. 
* Solders 



MY NANNIE'S AWA. 

TUNE — "there'll NEVER BF I KACB 
TILL JAMIE COMES HAME.' 

Now in her green mantle Llythe Na 
ture arrays. 

And listens the lambkins that bleat o'ci 
the braes, 

While birds warble welcome in ilV-a 
green shaw ; 

But to me it's delightless— my Nannie's 
awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our wood- 
lands adorn. 

And violetf bathe in the wect o' tin 
mom: 

M • 



l64 



WORKS OF BURN'S. 



\ riiey pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly 
! they blaw, 

I They mind me o' Nannie — my Nan- 

nie's awa. 

Thou lav'rock tJiat springs frae the 
dews o" the lawn, 

The shepherd to warn o' the grey- 
breaking dawn. 

And thou mellow mavis that hails the 
night fa', 

Gie over lor pity — my Nannie's awa. 

Come Autumn sae pensive, in yellow 
and gray, 

And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's 
decay ; 

The dark, dreary Winter, and wild- 
driving siiaw, 

Ala ne can delight me — now Nannie's 
awa. 



SWEET FA'S THE EVE/ 

rUNE — " CRAIGIEBURN-WOOD." 

ft^/ifET fa's the eve on Craigiebum, 
And blythe awakes the morrow, 

hut a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
1 hear the wild birds singing; 

But what a weary wight can please, 
And care his bosom wringing? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 
Yet dare na for your anger ; 

But secret love will break my heart. 
If I conceal it ianger. 

If thou refuse to pity me, 

If thou shalt love anither. 
When yon green leaves fa' frae the tree, 

Around my grave they'll wither. 



* Bums again celebrates Miss Lori- 
m^r. Craigieburn-wood is s-'.uate on 
ihc banks of ilie river Muffat. The 
Aroods of Craigi't';>uri a"- J of Duncrief 
were, at on'j r" ae favv/urite hiunts of 
OUT poet (^■^ur-jtiz..) 



O LASSIE, ART, THOU SIEK* 
ING VET? 

TUNE—" LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT.* 

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet? 
Or art thou wakin', I would wit? 
For love has bound me, hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 



O let me in this ae night 

This ae, ae, ae night; 
For pity's sake this ae night, 

(J ri.>e and let me in, jo. 

Thou hear'si the winter wind and weet, 
Naestar blinks thro' the driving sleet ; 
1 ak pity on my weary feet, 
And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let me in, &c. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws. 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's : 
'J he cauldness o' thy heart's the cauM 
Ufa' my grief and pain, jo. 

let me in, itc. 

HER ANSWER. 

O TELL na me o' wind and rain. 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ! 
( "lae back the gait ye cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 

■ CHORUS. 

1 tell you now this ae night. 
This ae, ae, ae night, 

And ance for a' this ao night 
I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest' blast, at mirkest' no-rs, 
That round the path less wand'rerporrs, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures, 
That's trusted faithless ntan, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

Thp ^iweetest flower that deck'd Cbt 

mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed; 
Let simple maid the lesson read. 
The weird 3 may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 



Bitterest. 



Darkest. 



^Fft<i. 



SONGS. 



«e»s 



The bird that chai m'd his summer-day, 
is now the cruel fowler's prey : 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate s the same, jo. 
I tell y ju now, &c. 



•1 WAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE 

EE. 

ruNE — "laddie, lie near me." 

*1 "was na her bonnie blue e'e was my 

ruin ; 
Talr the' she be, that was ne'er my 

undoin' ; 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody 

did mind us, 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown ' 

glance o' kindness. 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide 

me ; 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to 

sever. 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for 

ever. 

Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sin- 

cerest. 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the 

dearest ! 
And thou'rt the angel that never can 

alter, 
Sooner the sun in his motion would 

falter. 



SONG. 

TUNE — " HUMOURS OF GLEN." 

Their groves o' sweet myrtles let fo- 
reign lands reckon. 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt 
their perfume ; 
Far dearer to nie yon lone glen o' green 
breckan,^ 
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang 
yellow broom. 



Stolen. 



Fern. 



Far dearer to me arc yon humble broom 
bowers, 
Where the blue-bcU and gowan lurk 
lowly unseen : 
For there lightly tripping amang the 
wild flowers, 
A listening the linnet, aft wanden 
my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gaj 
sunny valleys. 
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the 
wave ; 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that 
skirt tlie jiroud palace. 
What are they? The haunt of the 
tyrant and slave I 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold- 
bubbling fountains, 
'J he brave Caledonian views wi' dis- 
dain ; 
He wanders as free as the winds of hi« 
mountains, 
Save love's willing fetters, the chains 
o' his Jean. 



ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. 

Tl NE — "wHERE'lL BONNIE ANN LIE." 

O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, 

stay. 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray; 
A liapless lover courts thy lay, 
'1 by soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
'1 hat I may catch thy melting art ; 
I'"(ir surely that wad touch htr heart, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy littk- mate unkind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd 
Sic notes o' wae could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair : 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, na<! mair 
Or my poor heart is broken ! 



i66 



WORK'S OF BURNS. 



HOW CRUEL ARE THE 
PARENTS. 

TUNE — "JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 

How cruel are the parents 

Who riches only prize, 
And to the wealthy booby 

Poor woman sacrifice. 
Meanwhile the hapless daughter 

Has but a choice of strife ; 
To shun a tyrant father's hate. 

Becomes a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing. 

The trembling dove thus flies, 
To shun impelling ruin 

Awhile her pinion tries ; 
Till of escape despairing. 

No shelter or retreat. 
She trusts the ruthless falconer. 

And drops beneath his feet. 



MARK YONDER POMP. 



TUNE — "DEIL TAK THE WARS." 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion. 

Round the wealthy, titled bride ; 

But when compar'd with real passion. 

Poor is all that princelj' pride. 
What are the showy treasures ? 
What are the noisy pleasures ? 
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art : 
The polish'd jewel's blaze 
May draw the wond'ring gaze. 
And courtly grandeur bright 
The fancy may delight. 
But never, never can come near the 
heart. 
But did you see my dearest Chloris, 

In simplicity's array ; 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening 
flower is. 
Shrinking from the gaze of day ! 
O then, the heart alarming, 
And all resistless charming, 
In Love's delightful fetters she chains 
the willing soul ! 
Ambition would disown 
The w orld's imperial crown ; 



Even Avarice would d°ny 
His worshipp'd deity, 
And feel thro' every vein Love's 
tures roll. 



I SEE A FORM, I SEE A FACE. 

TUNE — " THIS IS NO MV AIN HOUSE." 

O THIS is no my ain lassie. 

Fair tho' the lassie be ; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie. 
Kind love is in her e'e. 
I see a form, I see a face. 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching grace. 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 
She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and 

tall. 
And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
And aye it charms my very saul. 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 
A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; 
But gleg' as light are lovers' een. 
When kind love is in the e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 
It may escape the courtly sparks. 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 



O BONNIE WAS YON ROSY 
BRIER. 

TUNE — "l WISH MV LOVE WAS IN A 

MIRE." 

O BONNIE was yon rosy brier. 
That blooms sae far frae havrt ■> 
man ; 

And bonnie she, and ah, how deai 
It shaded frae the e'enin ^ sun. 



SONGS. 



Voiv rosebuds in the niv/mmg dew, 
How pure amang the leaves sae 
green- 
But pure* was the lovers' vow 

Ihey witness'd in their shade yes- 
treen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower, 
That crimson rose, how sweet and 
fair ! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I the world nor wish, nor scorn. 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



FORLORN, MY LOVE 

TUKE — " LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT. 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near. 
Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
F.Tr, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 



O wert thou, love, but near me, 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me. 
And mingle sighs with mine, love. 

Around me scowls a wintry sky. 
That blasts each bud of hope and 

joy; 

And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O wert, &c. 

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, 

To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 

Let me not break thy faithful heart, 

And say that fate is mine, love. 

O wert, &c. 

But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet ! 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
O wert, &c. 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 

TUNE — " THE LOTHIAN LASSIE." 

Last May a braw wooer cam down 
the lang glen, 
And sair wi' his love he did deave 
me ; 
I said there was naething I hated like 
men, 
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, 

believe me. 
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me. 
He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black 
een. 
And vow'd for my love he was dying ; 
I said he might die when he liked foi 
Jean : 
The Lord forgie me for lying, for 

lying, 
The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the 
laird. 
And marriage aff-hand, were his 
proffers : 
I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or 
car'd ; 
But thought I might hae waur offers, 

waur offers, 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 
But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight 
or less. 
The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! 
He up the lang loan to my black cousin 
Bess, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear 

her, could bear her, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear 
her. 
But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' 
care, 
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock," 
And v.ha but my fine fickle lover m as 
there ! 
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a 

warlock, 
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 



^ Dalgarnock is the name of a ro- 
mantic spot near the Nith, where ara 
still a ruined church and a butial- 
ground. — R. B. 



168 



WORK'S OF BURNS. 



But owre my left shouther I gae him a 

blink, 

Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in 

drink, 

And vow'd T was his dear lassie, dear 

lassie, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and 
sweet, 
Gin she had recover'd her hearin. 
And how her new shoon fit her auld 
shachl't^ feet — 
But Heavens ! how he fell a swearin, 

a swearin, 
But Heavens ! how he fell a swearin. 

He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his 
wife. 
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow: 
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, 

to-morrow ; 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



HEY FOR A LASS WI'A TOCHER. 

TUNE — " BALINAMONA ORA." 

AwA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's 

alarms. 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in 

your arms : 
0,'gie me the lass that has acres o' 

charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit 

farms. 



Thenliey, for a lass wi' a tocher, then 
hey, for a lass wi' a tocher, 

Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher ; the 
nice yellow guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a flower in the morning 

that blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it 

grows ; 



But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie 

green knowes, 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie 

white yowes. 
Then hey, &c. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosoia 

has blest, 
The brightest o" beauty may cloy, when 

possest : 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' 

Geordie imprest. 
The langer ye hae them — the mair 

they're carest. 
Then hey, &c. 



ALTHO' THOU MAUN NEVER 
BE MINE. 

TUNE — "here's a health TO THEM 

that's AWA." 

CHORUS. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear. 
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 
Thou art as sweet as the smile when 
fond lovers meet. 
And soft as their parting tear — Jessy !' 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aiiglit in the world beside— • 
Jessy ! 
Here's a health, &c. 

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day. 

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms 
But welcome the dream o' sweet slum 
ber. 
For then I am lockt in thy arms- 
Jessy ! 
Here's a health, S:c. 

I guess by the dear angel smiie, 
I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; 
But why urge the tender confessic:; 
'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree- 
Jessy ! 
Here's a health, &c. 



* Twisted. 



Miss Jessy Lewars, 



SONGS. 



t\ 



THE 3IRKS' OF ABERFELDY. 

r>onn:e ?assie, will ye go, 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go. 

To the Birks of Aberfeldy ? 

Now sin;iner blinks on flowery braes, 

And e'er the crystal streamlet plays, 

Come let us spend the lightsome days 

In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
While o'er their heads the hazels hing. 
The little birdies blithely sing. 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 

In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep roaring fa's, 
( )"er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws. 

The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers. 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers 

The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Let fortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
To the Birks of Aberfeldy ? 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND 
ROVER. 



i .oVT> b!aw the frosty breezes. 
The snaws the mountains cover ; 

1 ike winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland Rover 
Far wanders nations over. 

Where'er he go, where'er he stray. 
May heaven be his warden ; 

Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 
And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! 

I'he trees now naked groaning. 
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging ; 



The birdies dowie moaning. 
Shall a' be blithely singing, 
And every flower be springing. 

Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day. 
When by his mighty warden 

My youth's return'd to fair Strathspej 
And bonnie Castle-Gordon. 



STAY, MY CHARMER. 

TUNE— " AN GILLE DUBH CI AR DHUBH." 

Stay, my charmer, can you leave mef 
Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 
Well you know how much you grieve 
me ; 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 
By my love so ill requited ; 
By the faith you fondly plighted ; 
By the pangs of lovers slighted ; 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



* Near Moness, in Perthshire. The 
kirch-trees w?re th;re very abundant. 



FULL WELL THOU KNOW'ST.* 

TUNE — "rOTHIEMURCHE's RANT." 
CHORUS. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks. 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 

Wilt thou lay that frown aside. 
And smile as thou were wont to do! 

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear; 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear? 
O, did not Love exclaim, " Forbear, 
Nor use a faithful lover so ?" 
Fairest maid, &c. 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair. 
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share ; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear, 
No love but thine myheart shall know. 
Fairest maid. Sec. 

^ This is supposed to be the last song 
written by Burns. " I tried my hand 
on ' Rothiemurche' this morning. The 
measure is so difficult, that it 's impos- 
sible to infuse much geniuf int.") Om 
lines."— R. B. 



IfO 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT.* 

Thickest night,o'erhangmy dwelling ! 

Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 

Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind, 

Western breezes softly blowing. 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of right engaged, 
Wrongs injurious to redress. 

Honour's war we strongly waged. 
But the Heavens denied success. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us. 
Not a hope that dare attend ; 

The wide world is all before us — 
But a world without a friend ! 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER 
BLOWING.^' 

TUNE — " M'GREGOR OF RUAKA'S \ 
LAMENT." 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray'd deploring : 
" Farewell, hours, that late did mea- 
sure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow 

" O'er the past too fondly wandering, 
On the hopeless future pondering ; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes. 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
load to misery most distressing, 
O, how gladly I'd resign thee. 
And to dark oblivion join thee !" 

^ Lord Strathallan, bewailing his for- 
lorn state after the defeat of Culloden. 
■^ Miss Isabella M'Leod, who had 
JSt a sister and a brother-in-law. 



MUSING ON THE ROARING 
OCEAN. 

TUNE — " DRUIMION DUBH." 

Musing on the roaring ocean 

Which divides my love and me ; 
Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 

For his weal where'er he be. 
Hope and fear's alternate billow 

Yielding late to nature's law, 
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 

Talk of him that's far awa. 
Ye whom sorrow never wounded. 

Ye who ne\ er shed a tear, 
Care-untroubl'd, joy-surrounded. 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me ; 

Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; 
Spirits kind, again attend me. 

Talk of him that s far awa ! 



BLITHE WAS SHE. 



ANDREW AND HIS CUTTY 
GUN." 



Blithe, blithe and merry was she. 

Blithe was she but and ben : 
Blithe by the banks of Em, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 
By Ochtertyre grows the aik. 

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw ; 
But Phemie ' was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blithe, &c. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 

Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 
She tripped by the banks of Em, 

As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blithe, &c. 
Her bonnie face it was as meek 

As ouie lamb's upon a lea ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae f weet 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
Blithe, &c. 

' Miss Euphecia Murray, 



SONGS, 



«> 



fhe Highland hi Is I've wander'd wide. 
And oer the Lowlands 1 hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blithest l«ss 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe. &c. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS.* 

TUNE'—" NEIL GOW'S LAMENTATION 
FOR ABERCAIRNY." 

'•Vhere, braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Ochiis rise, 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes. 
As one who, by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonisli'd, doubly marks its beam 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade. 

And blest the day and hour. 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd. 

When first I felt their pow'r ! 
The tyrant Death with grim control 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



THE LAZY MIST. 

IRISH AIR — "COOLUN." 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of 
the hill, 

Concealing the course of the dark- 
winding rill ; 

How languid the scenes, late so spright- 
ly, appear, 

As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale 
year ! 

The forests are leafless, the meadows 
are brown, 

Aad all the gay foppery of Summer is 
■flown : 

Apart let me wander, apart let me 
muse. 

How quick Time is flying, how keen 
Fate pursues ; 

' Miss Margaret Clialmers. 



How long I have lived, but how macb 

lived in vain : 
How little of life's scanty span may 

remain : 
What aspects old Time, in his pro- 
gress, has worn ; 
What ties cruel Fate in my bosom ha» 

torn. 
How foolish, or worse, till our summit 

is gain'd ! 
And downward, how weaken'd, how 

darken'd, how pain'd ! 
This life's not worth having with all it 

can give. 
For something beyond it poor man sure 

must live. 



A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY 
WALK. 

TUNE — " THE shepherd's WIFE." 

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,* 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk. 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled. 
In a' its crimson glory spread. 
And drooping rich the dewy head. 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 

Sae early in the morning. 
She soon shall see her tender brood. 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd. 

Awake the early morning. 
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany^ fair. 
On trembling string, or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 

That tents thy early morning. 
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gaj 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. 
And bless the parent's evening ray 

That watch'd thy early morning. 

■ Bank. 
' Miss Jenny Cruiksh 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



TIBBIE 1 HAE SEEN THE DAY.* 

TUNE — " INVERCAULD'S REEL." 



O Tibbie, I hae seen the day. 
Ye would na been sae shy ; 

For laik o' gear ye Hghtly^ me, 
But trowth, I care na by. 

Yestreen I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by hke stoure : 
Ye geek at me because I'm poor, 
But fient a hair care I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

1 doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink. 
That ye can please me at a wink. 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows onie saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart. 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'U cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he for sense or lear . 
Be better than the kye. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddy's gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price 
Were ye as poor as I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would na gie her in her sark. 
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ; 
Ye need na look sae high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

* Burns was about seventeen years 
old when ha »,-omoQsed these rhymes. 
' Despise 



I LOVE MY JEAN.» 

TUNE — "miss admiral GORDON^ 
STRATHSPEY. " 

Of a' the airts ^ the wind can blav, 

I dearly like the west. 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best ; 
There wild woods grow, and riveis rt % 

And monie a hill between ; 
By day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings. 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' 
HILL. 

TUNE — "mV love is LOST TO ME." 

O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill. 
Or had of Helicon my fill. 
That I might catch poetic skill, 

To sing how dear I lo\ e thee ! 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well. 
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel ; 
On Corsincon3 I 11 glow'r and spell. 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay 
For a' the lee-lang simmers day, 
I coud na sing, I coud na say. 

How much, how dear 1 love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
Thy waist sae jimp, •» thy limbs sae clean. 
Thy tempting looks, thy roguish een— 

By Heaven and earth I love thee ! 

^ Written ' ' out of compliment to 
Mrs. Burns." 

^ Points of the compass. 

3 A hi\J near Ellisland. *> Slendef 




* * ■ ^* If- -^IKi^ 0*i'' '-^^^ ^ >4 



SONGS. 



»73 



By ni^ht, by day, a-Kild, at hame, 
The thoughts o" thee my breast inflame ; 
And aye I muse and sing thy hame, 

I only hve to love thee. 
The' I were doom'd to wander on, 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun. 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 

Till then— and then I'd love thee. 



THE BLISSFUL DAY.* 

Tl t.E — "seventh of NOVEMBER." 

The day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 

Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide. 

And crossc-. oer the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and 
globes ; — 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee 
mine. 

While day and night can bring delight. 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
While joys above my mind can move, — 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our band. 

It breaks my bUss— it breaks my 
heart. 



1 HE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

TUNE — "miss FORBES'S FAREWELL TO 
BANFF." 

Ti'E Catrine woods were yellow seen, 
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea, 

Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green. 
But nature sicken'd on the e'e. 

* The Poet declared Robert Riddel 
and his wife to be " one of the hap- 
piest and worthiest married couples in 
the world." These stanzas were com- 
posed for the anniversary of their wed- 
ding-day. 



Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle, 

And aye the wild wood echoes rang, 
Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, 

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ; 
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowei s, 

Again yell cliarm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or flow' ret smile ; 
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Balloch- 
myle. 



THE HAPPY TRIO.' 

TUNE — "WILLIE BREVV'd A PECK O' 

MAUT." 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut. 
And Rob and Allan came to see ; 

Three blither hearts, that lee-lang' 
night. 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

CHORUS. 

We are na fou, we're no that fou. 
But just a drappie in our e'e ; 

The cock may era w, the day may daw. 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys. 
Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 

And monie a night we've merry been. 
And monie mae we hope to be ! 
We are na fou, &c. 

It is the moon, I ken her horn. 
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie : 



' This air is Masterson's ; the song 
mine. The occasion of it was this, 
Mr. William Nicol, of the High S-.hooI 
of Edinburgh, during the Autumn 
vacation, beingat Moffat, honest Al.an, 
who was at that time on a visit to 
Dalswinton, and I, went to pay Nicol 
a visit. We had such a joyous ireeting, 
that Mr. Masterson and I agreed, 
each in our own way, that ve sliould 
celebrate the business — R B, 

' Live-long. 



■9« 



IVOKKS or BVRN-S. 



She shines sae bright to wyle us hr.me, 
But, by my ^ wxh, she'll wait a wee 
We are na fou, &c. 
Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 
Wha last beside his chair shall fa'. 
He is the king amang us three 1 
We are na fi u, &c. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE.^ 

I GAED a' waefu' gate yestreen, 
A gate, I fear, III dearly rue ; 

I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 
Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 

1 was not her golden ringlets bright, 
Her lips like roses wet wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white ; — 
It was her een sae bonnie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she 
wyl'd. 

She charm'd my soul I wist na how ; 
And aye the stound,^ the deadly wound, 

Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. 

But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
ihould she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 

J jHN Andekson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent, 
Vour locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent ;5 
But now your brow is held, John^ 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
Bat biCSsings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 
Wc clamb the hill thegither ; 



* Jean Jeffry, daughter of the min- 
ister of Lov^hmaben. ' 
" Pang. 3 High and smooth. 



And monie a canty day, Jolui^ 
We've had wi' ane anither : 

Now we maun tottei down, John, 
But hand in hand well go. 

And sleep thegither at the foot, 
John Anderson, my jo. 



TAM GLEN. 

TUNE — "the ML'CKING o' GEORDIB'J 
BVKE." 

Mv heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len'. 

To anger them a' is a piity ; 

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ? 

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow. 
In poortith' I might mak a fen';^ 

What care I in riches to wallow. 
If I maunna marry Tam Glen ? 

There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller, 
' ' Guid-day to you, brute ! " he comes 
ben : 
He brags and he blaws o' his siller ; 
But when will he dance Uke Tan. 
Glen ? 

My minnie does constantly deave 3 me, 
j->.nd bids nic beware o' young men ; 

They flatter, she sa\s, to deceive me ; 
But w ha can think sae o' Tain Glen I 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him. 
He'll gie meguid hunder marks ten : 

But, if it s ordaui'd I maun take him, 
O wha will 1 get but Tam Glen ? 

Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing, 
^ly heart to my mou gied a sten :* 

For thrice 1 drew ane without failing. 
And thrice it was written, Tam Glen 

The last Halloween I w.x5 waukin 5 
My droukil^ sark-sleeve, as ye ken' 

His likeness cam up the house staukin— 
And the very grey breeks o" 'lam 
Glen! 

' Poverty. ^ Make a shift. 3 Deafen 
4 Leap. 5 Watching. 6 Wet. 



SOA/GS, 



»73 



Come counsel, deav Tittie, don't tarry ; 

I'il gie ycu my bonnie black hen, 
Gif you will advise me to marry 

The lad 1 lo'e dearl) Tarn Glen. 



GANE IS THE DA.Y. 

TUNE — "gUIDWIFE COUNT THE 
LAWIN." 

Ganr is the day, and mirk's the night. 
But we'll ne'er stray for faute^ o' light. 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon. 
And bluid-red wine's the risin sun. 

CHORUS. 

Then guidwife count the lawin,' the 

lawin, the lawin. 
Then guidwife count the lawin, and 

bring a coggie mair. 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen. 
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen". 
But here we're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 
Then guidwife count, &c. 

My coggie is a haly pool, 3 
That heals the wounds o'care and dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout. 
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out. 
Then guidwife count, &c. 



WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE 
DO Wr AN AULD MAN ? 

TUNE — "what can A LASSIE DO." 

What can a young lassie, what shall a 
young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an 
auld man ? 
bid luck on the penny that tempted 
my minnie 
To sell her poor Jenny fa- siller an' 
lan'l 
Bad luck on the penny, &c. 

» Fault. » Rwkoning. 3 Holy well. 



He's always compleenin frae momin tfi 
e'enin, 
He hosts and he hirples' the wearj 
day lang : 
He's doylt^ and he's dozin, his bluid it 
is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy 
auld man ! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets .Jtd 
he cankers, 
I never can please him dc a' that I 
can ; 
He's peevish, and jealous cf a' the 
young fellows : 
O, dool 3 on the day I met wi' an auld 
man! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes 
pity, 
I'll do my endeavour to follow her 
plan ; 
I'll cross him, and rack him, until I 
heart-break him. 
And then his auld brass will buy me 
a new pan. 



O, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, 
TAM ! 

TUNE — " THE MOUDIEWOKT." 
CHORUS. 

An' O for ane-and-twenty. Tarn ! 

An' hey, sweet ane-and-twcLty, 
'lam ! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang. 

An' I saw ane-and-twenty. Tarn. 

They snooH me sair, and baud me 
down, 
And gar me look like bluntie,5'rani ! 
But three short years will soon wheel 
roun'. 
And then comes ane-and twenty, 
Tam. 
And O for ane, &c. 

* Coughs and hobbles. ^ fitupiJ 
3 Sorrow. 4 Oppress. 

* SnivelUns. 



tjt 



fVORKS OF BURNS, 



A gleib o' lanV a claut o' ^ear, 

Was lelt me by my auntie, Tam; 
At kith or kin I need na spier, 
An" I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
An' O for ane, &c. 
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,' 

Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ; 
But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my 
loof,3_ 
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
An' O for ane, &c. 



THE BONNIE WEE THING. 

TUNE — " THE LADS OF SALTCOATS." 

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine, 

I wad wear thee in my bosom. 
Lest my jewel I should tine. 

Wistfully I look and languish 
In that bonnie face of thine ; 

And my heart it stounds '* wi' anguish. 
Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty. 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie wee, &c. 



.THE BANKS OF NITH. 

TUNE — " ROBIE DONNA GORACH." 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flows the Nith to me. 

Where Cummins ance had high com- 
mand : 
When shall I see tliat honour'd land. 

That winding stream I loved so dear? 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here ? 



* A portion of ground. 
3 Hand. 



How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vale". 
Where spreading hawthorns gailj 
bloom ; 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales. 
Where lambkins wanton thio' the 
broom ! 
Tho' wandering, now, must be m> 
doom, 
Far from thy bonnie banks and brae\ 
May there my latest hour consume, 
Amang the friends of early days ! 



= Blockhead. 
4 Throbs. 



BESSY AND HER SPINNfN 
WHEEL. 

O LEEZE ^ me on my spinnin wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds nie bien,^ 
And haps 3 me fieH and warm at e'en 1 
I'll set me down and sing and spin. 
While laigh 5 descends the simmer sun. 
Blest wi' content, and milk, and meal— 
O leeze me on my spinnin wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
And meet below my theekito cot ; 
The scented birk and hawthorn vhite 
Across the pool their arms unite. 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest. 
And httle fishes caller 7 rest : 
Ihe sun blinks kindly in the biel ,8 
Where blithe I turn my spinnin wheel. 

On lofty aiks ^ the cushats wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes. 
Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
The craik '° amang the claver hay, 
The paitrick" whirrin o'er the ley. 
The swallow jinkin '^ round my shiel,*' 
Amuse me at my spinnin wheel. 



^ A phrase of endearment : " 
proud of thee." 

~ That abundantly clothes me. 



I aiG 



3 Wraps. 
6 Thatched. 
9 Oaks. 
" Partridge' 



4 Soft. 5 Low. 

7 Sound. 8 Nook. 

^° The corn-rai!. 
" Dodging. *3 Shed 



SONGS, 



177 



IVi' sn\a to sell, and less to buy, 

Abo )n di.it ress, below envy, 

wha wad leave this humble state. 

For a' the pride of a' the great? 

Amid their flarin, idle toys, 

Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 

Can they the peace and pleasure feel 

Of Bessy at her spinnin wheel ? 



COUNTRY LASSIE. 

TUNE — "JOHN, COME KISS ME NOW." 

In simmer, when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field. 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; ^ 
Blithe Be? lie in the milking shiel. 

Says, '' 111 be wed, come o't what 
will;" 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild,— 

" O' guid advisement comes nae ill : 

" It's ye hae wooers monie ane. 

And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale^ 

A roulhie but, a routhie ben : 3 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; * 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen. 

It's plenty beets the luver's fire." 5 

" For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,6 

He has nae luve to spare for me ; 
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e. 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : 
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear." 

" O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught ; 7 
The canniest gate, the strife is sair; 

But aye fu' han't is fechtinS best, 
An himgry care's an unco care : 



* Sunny nook of a wood. 
' Choose. 

3 A plentiful kitchen and parlour. 

* Sheep-pen. 5 Adds fuel to fire. 

* Crops and cows. 

? Fight. 8 Fighting. 



But some will spend, and some will 
spare. 
An' wilfu* folk maun hae their will . 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair. 
Keep mind that ye maun drink the 
yill." "■ 

" O, gear will buy me rigs o' land. 

And gear will buy me sheep and 
kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome^ luve 

The gowd and siller canna buy : 
We may be poor — Robie and I, — 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve brings peace and jcy, 

What mair hae queens upon a 
throne?" 



FAIR ELIZA. 

TUNE — "the BONNIE BRt'CKET 
LASSIE." 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rew3 on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart I 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

If to love thy heart denies. 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise ! 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ' 

The offence is loving thee ; 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine wad gladly die ? 
While tbe life beats in my bosom, 

'J'hou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom. 

In the pride o' sunny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy. 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his e'e. 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture/ 

That thy presence gies to me. 



^ Ale. 

3 Look tenderly. 



Gladsomft. 



K7S 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 

She's fair and fause that causes my 
smart, 

I lo'ed her a e vkle and lang : 
She's broken hei vow, she's broken my 
heart, 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof came in wi' rowth o' gear,' 
And I hae tint^ my dearest dear. 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love. 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 3 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 
O Woman lovely, Woman fan ! 
An Angel form's fa'n to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to've gien thee 
mair, 

T mean an Angel mind. 



THE POSIE. 



O LUVE will venture in, where it daur 

na weel be seen, 
luve will venture in, where wisdom 

ance has been ; 
Bat I will down yon river rove, amang 

the wood sae green, — 
And a' to pu' a Posie to my ain dear 

May. 

'I'he primrose I will pu', the firstling o' 

the year, 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' 

my dear, 
For she's the pink o' womankind, and 

blooms without a peer ; — 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear 

May. 

ril pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus 

peeps in view, 
For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet 

bonnie mou; 

'■ A blockhead came with plenty of 
wealth. 
* L 3-tr 3 No wonder. 



The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' iu 

unchanging blue, 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain deaj 
May. 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
And in her lovely bosom I'll place tho 

lily there ; 
The daisy's for simplicity and liO* 

affected air, 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain deal 

May. 
The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' 

siller gray, 
Where, like an aged nun, it stands at 

break o' day, 
But the songster's nest within the bush 

I winna tak away ; — 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dcai 

May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'en- 

ing star is near, 
And the diamond drops o' dew shall be 

her een sae clear : 
The violet's for modesty which weel she 

fa's to wear, — 
And a' to be a Posie to mj' ain deai 

May. 
I'll tie the Posie round wi' the silken 

band o' luve, 
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll 

swear by a' above. 
That to my latest draught o' life, the 

band shall ne'er remuve, — 
And this will be a Posie to my ain 

dear May. 



THE BANKS O' DOON.' 

TUNE— "the CALEDONIAN HO'NT'J* 
DELIGHT." 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair • 

^ We have this song in an earlier acd 
simpler form, as the writer sent it to 
Mr. Ballantine : Mr. Cunningham, on 
the authority of an Ayrshire legend, 
discovers the heroine of the song in 



SONGS. 



»7i 



How can ye fhast ye little birds. 
An' I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 

rhou'li break my heart, thou warbling 
bird, 
That wantons thro' the flowering 
thorn : 
Thou minds me o' departed joys, 
Departed — never to return. 

TLou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie 
bird. 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 
T 3 see the rose and woodbine twine ; 

Anil ilka bird sang o' its luve. 
And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 

And my fause luver stole my rose. 
But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



Miss Kennedy, of Dalgarrock, who 
broke her heart for one M'Dougall, of 
Logan : 

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye blume sae fair ! 

How can ye chant, ye little birds. 
And I sae fu' o' care. 

Tfiou'll break my heart, thou bonnie 
bird. 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days, 

When my fause luve was true. 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie 
bird. 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 
To see the woodbine twine, 

And ilka bird sang o' its love. 
And sae did I o' mitv^. 

Wi' liglitsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Frae off its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw the rose, 

But left the thorn wi' me. 



GLOOMY DECEMBET?.* 

rvtra — "wandering willie." 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy 
December ! 
Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and 
care ; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me 
remember. 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet 
mair. 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful 
pleasure, 
Hope beaming mild on the soft part- 
ing hour ; 
But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever ! 
Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 
Wild as the winter now tearing the 
forest. 
Till the last leaf o' the summer is 
flown, 
Such is the tempest has taken my 
bosom. 
Since my last hope and comfort is 
gone. 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy De- 
cember, 
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and 
care. 
For sad was the parting thou makes me 
remember. 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to w>^et 
mair. 



BEHOLD THE HOUR. 

TUNE — " ORAN-GAOIL." 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! 

Thou go'st, thou darling of my heart: 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 

But fate has will'd, and we must part 1 
I'll often greet this surging swell ; 

Yon distant isle will often hail : 
" E'en here I took the last farewell ; 

There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail." 
Along the solitary shore, 

While flitting sea-fowls round me cry, 

' On parting from Clarinda. 

N 2 



ito 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



Across tlie rollir,g, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye : 
"Happy, thou Indian grove," I'll say, 
"Where now my Nancy's path may 
be! 
While thro' thy sweets she loves to 
stray, 
O, tel' me does she muse on me?" 



WILLIE'S WIFE/ 

TINE — "TIBBIE rOWLER IN THE 
GLEV." 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 

The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie, 
Willie was a wabster^ guid, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie ; 
He had a wife was dour and din,3 

Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mither ; 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 
She has an e'e, she has but ane. 

The cat has twa the very colour ; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad deave^ a miller ; 
A whiskin beard about her mou. 

Her nose and chin theythreaten ither ; 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 
She's bow-hough'd, 5 she's hein-shinn'd, 

Aelimpin leg, a hand-breed ^ shorter ; 
She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 

To balance fair in ilka quarter : 
She has a hump upon her breast, 

The twin o' that upon her shouther; 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

1 wad na gie a button for her. 

Auld baudrons ^ by the ingle sits. 
An' wi' her loof her face a-washin ; 

But Willie's wife is nae sae trie,8 
She dights' her grunzie''' wi' a 
hushion ;^^ 

* Willie's wife is said to have been 
the wife of a farmer near Ellisland. 
^ Weaver. ^ Sullen and sallow. 

4 Deafen. 

5 Out-kneed. * Hand's-breadth. 
7 Cat. 8 Niat. 9 Wipes. 

»*' Mouth. " Cushion. 



Herwalie nieves' like midlen-creels 
Her face wad fyle -^ th t Logan-wata 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 
I wad na gie a button for her 



AFTON WATER.4 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, amcng l* f 

green braes, 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in 

thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring 

stream. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not 

her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds 
thro' the glen. 

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in jsfli 
thorny den. 

Thou green-crested lapwing, thy 
screaming forbear, 

I charge j'ou disturb not my slumber- 
ing fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbour- 
ing hills, 

Far mark'd with the courses of clear, 
winding rills. 

There daily I wander as noon ritJS 
high. 

My flocks and my Mary's sweet co* in 
my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green 

valleys below. 
Where wild In the woodlands the pn».i« 

roses blow ; 
There oft as mild eVning weeps Ovei 

the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades «iiy 

Mary and ine. 
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely 

it glides. 
And winds by the cot where my Mary 

resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet 

lave, 
As gathering sNveet flow'rets she stemi 

thy clear wave. 

* Big fists. « Dung-baskets. 3 Soil 
* Afton, a stream in Ayrshire. 



SONGS. 



Flow eently, sweet Afton, among thy 

green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of 

my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring 

stream, 
F'ow gently, sweet Aftbn, disturb not 

her dream. 



LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY 
THEE. 

t'NB — "my mother's aye GLOWR- 
ING o'er me." 

Louts, what reck I by thee. 
Or Geordie on his ocean ? 

Dyvor, beggar loons to me, 
I reign in Jeanie's' bosom. 

Let her cro\vn my love her law. 
And in her breast enthrone me : 

Kings and nations, swith awa !^ 
Reif randies,3 I disown ye ! 



BONNIE BELL. 

1 HE smiling Spring comes in rejoicing. 

And surly Winter grimly flies : 
N Dw crystal clear are the falling waters, 

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth 
the morning, 

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning. 

And 1 rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 

The flowery Spring leads sunny Sum- 
mer, 

And yellow Autumn presses near. 
Then in his tuin comes gloomy Winter, 

Till smiling Spring again appear. 
Tht:s seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Uld Time and Nature their changes 
tell; 
Hut never ranging, still unchanging, 

I adore my bonnie Bell. 



Mrs. Burns. ' Get away. 

3 Sturdy begg-u-s. 



FOR THE SAKE OF SOME- 
BODY. 
tune — "the highland watch's 
farewell." 

My heart Is sair, I dare na tell. 

My heart is sair for somebody ; 

I could wake a winter night, 

For the sake o' somebody. 

Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 

Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 

I could range the world around. 

For the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuou?. Ic^e, 

O sweetly smile on somebody ! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody ! 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' somebody ! 



O MAY, THY MORN. 

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 
As the mirk night o' December, 

For sparkling was the rosy wine. 
And private was the chamber : 

And dear was she I dare na name. 
But 1 will aye remember. 
And dear, &c. 

And here's to them that, like oursel, 
Can push about the jorum ; 

And here's to them that wish us weel ;— 
May a' that's guid watch o'er tliem ; 

And here's to them we dare na tell, 
The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to, &c. 



THE LOVELY l.A SS OF 
INVERNESS. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she ses ; 

For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 
And aye the saut tear blins her e'e ; 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Drumossie Moor, Drumossie day,* 
A waefii' day it was to me ; 

For there I lost my father dear. 
My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 
Their graves are growing green to 
see; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
^ A bhiidy man I trow thou be ; 
For monie a heart thou hast made sair. 
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

TUNE — "WISHAW'S FAVOURITE.' 

O, MY luve's like a red, red rose 
That's newly sprung in June : 

O, my luve's like the melodic 
That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass. 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 

I will luve thee still, my dear. 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel awhile ! 
And I will come again, my luve. 

The' it were ten thousand mile. 



O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON 
TOWN? 

TUNE — " THE HONNIE LASS IN YON 
TOWN." 

O, WAT ye wha's in yon town. 
Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 

' The battle of Culloden, on Dru- 
mossie Moor. 



The fairest dame's ^ in yon town. 
That e'enin sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay greer 
shaw, 
She wanders by yon spreading tree ; 
How blest, ye flow'rs that round het 
blaw, 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! 

How blest, ye birds that round her 
sin?, 

And weicome in the blooming year ; 
And doubly welcome be the spring. 

The season to my Lucy dear ! 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town. 
And on yon boi.nie braes of Ayr ; 

But my delight in yon town, 
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms 
O' Paradise could yield me joy ; 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air ; 

And she a lovely little flower, 

Ihat I wad tent and shelter there. 

O, sweet is she in yon town, 

Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon ; 

A fairer than's in yon town. 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe. 
And suffering I am doom'd to bear; 

I careless quit aught else below. 
But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne' er de- 
part. 

And she — as fairest is her form, — 
She has the truest, kindest heart. ^ 



* Mrs. Oswald, of Auchincruive, 
whose beauty and accomplishments 
so dazzled Burns, that he resolved to 
"say nothing at all" about her, "in 
despair of saying anything adequate." 

^ These lines are in the form of an 
address from the husband to his wife. 



SONGS. 



»83 



A VIJION. 

TUNE—" CUMNOCK PSALMS." 

As I Stood by yon roofless tower,* 
Where the wa'-flower scents ^he 
dewy air. 
Where the hovvlet mourns in ho • ivy 
bower, 
And tells the midnight roon her 
care ; 

'] he winds were laid, 'he 9'" vas 'till, 
The stars they shot alang the r' y ; 

The fox was howling on th*; nill. 

And the distant-echoing glens - ;ply. 

The stream, adown its haz'lly prth, 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa , 

Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
Whase distant roarings swell and fa'. 

The cauld blue north was streaming 
forth 

Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din ; 
Athort the lift they start and shift, 

Like fortune's favours, tint as win. 

By heedless chance I tum'd mine eyes. 
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see 

A stern and stalwart ghaisl arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane. 
His darin look had daunted me ; 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain 
The sacred posy — Libertie ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 
Might rouse the slumbering dead to 
hear ; 

But oh, it was a tale of woe. 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' joy his former day, 

He weeping wail'd his latter, times ; 

But what he said it was nae play ; 
I winna venture 't in my rhymes. 



* The tower belonged to the ruins 
of Lincluden Abbey, near Dumfries, 
a most poetical scene, and often visited 
by Burns. 



O WERT THOU IN THE CAULli) 
BLAST. 

TUNE—" THE LASS OP LIVINGSTONE." 

O, WERT thou in the cauld blast. 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea ; 
My plaidie to the angry airt,* 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee. 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee bl:iw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Of earth and air, of earth and air, 
The desert were a paradise. 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' ihee to reign, 
The only jewel in my crown. 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.' 

TUNE — " THE DEUKS DANG O'ER MY 
DADDY." 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er Si< fair, 
Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 

CHORUS. 
Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will, 
To sing my Highland lassie, O. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
1 bear my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 



* Quarter of the sky. 

' Mary Campbell, my Highland las- 
sie, was a warm-hearted, charming 
young creature as ever blesfed a man 
with g-nerous love. — R. B. 



[»4 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currents flow 
I'll love my Highland lassie, O. 
.Within the glen, &c. 

A.lthy thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change. 
For her bosom burns with honour's 

glow. 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c 

For her I'll dare the billow's roar. 
For her I'll dare the distant shore. 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O. 
Within thy glen, &c. 

She has my heart, she has my hand. 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O. 

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O ! 
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O ! 
To other lands I now must go. 
To sing my Highland lassie, O ! 



lOCKEVS TA'EN THE PART- 
ING KISS. 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 
O'er the mountains he is gane ,• 

And with him is a' my bliss. 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw. 
Flashy sleets and beating rain ! 

Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 
^ O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 
Sound and safely may he sleep. 
Sweetly blithe his waukening be ! 

He will think on her he loves. 
Fondly he'll repeat her name ; 

For where'er he distant roves. 
Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS.' 

Mv Peggy's face, iny Peggy's form. 
The frost of hermit age nuglit warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's min'\ 
Might charm the first of humaii kind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly heavenly fair, 
Her native grace so void of art ; 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 
The lily's hue, the rose's dye. 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway, 
Who but knows thej' all decay ' 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear. 
The generous purpose, nobly dear. 
The gentle look that rage disarms,--- 
These are all immortal charms. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARL 7. 



Up in the morning's no for me, 
Up in the morning early ; 

When a' the hills are cover'd wi'snaw, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae eait ^o 
west. 

The drift is driving sairly ; 
Sae loud and shrill I hear the blas-t, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

The birds sit chittering^ in the thorn, 
A' day they fare but spart'.y ; 

And lang's the night frae e'en to uu~n, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
Up in the morning, &c. 



THO' CRUEL FATE. 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part. 

As far's the pole and line ; 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 

' Peggy was Miss Margaret C.Hal 
mers. 

^ Shivering. 



SONGS. 



i»S 



rbo' mountains frown and Jesertshowl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean. 



I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE 
FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING.* 

I dream'd I lay where E'wers were 
springing 

Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
List'ning to the wild birds singing, 

By a falling, crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring: 

Thro" the woods the whirlwinds rave; 
Trees with aged arms were warring. 

O'er the swelling, drumlie^ wave. 
Such was my life's deceitful morning. 

Such the pleasures I enjoy'd ; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests, storm- 
ing, 

A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. 
rho' fickle fortune has deceived me, 

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but 
ill. 
Of monie a joy and hope bereav'd me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 



BONNIE ANN.3 

Vf. gallants bright, I rede 4 you right, 

Beware o' boniiie Ann ; 
lier comely face sae fu' o' grace, 

Vour heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by nighty 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimplyS lac'd her genty^ waist. 

That sweetly ye might span. 
Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van ; 

* Written in the poet's eighteenth 
year. 

= Muddy. 

3 Ann Masterton, the daughter of a 
friend of Burns. 

^ Counsel. S Slenderly. 

6 Elegant. 



In a' their charms, and conqueting arms, 

They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands. 

But love enslaves the man : 
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', 

Beware o' bonnie Ann. 



MY BONNIE MARY. 

rio fetch to me a pint o' wine. 

An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink, before 1 go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie. 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the 
ferry ; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maim leave my bonnie Mary. 
The tnimpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked 
ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's no the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad mak me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar, — 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGH- 
LANDS.^' 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 

is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing 

the deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following 

the roe, — 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I 

go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to 

the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country 

of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
7'he hills of the Highlands forever I 

love. 

^ Measure. 

^ The first half stanza cf this scng it 
old, the rest is mine. — R. B. 



186 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



FarcA-ell to the m Dtintains highcover'd 
with snow ; 

Farewell to the straths and green 
valleys below ; 

Farewell to the forests and wild-hang- 
ing woods ; 

Farewell to the torrents and loud-pour- 
ing floods. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 
is not here, 

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing 
the deer ; 

Chasing the wild deer, and following 
the roe, — 

My heart's in the Highlands, wherever 
I go. 



THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS 
CITY. 

TUNE— "NEIL GOW'S LAMENT." 

There's a youth in this city, it were a 
great pity, 
That he from our lasses should wan- 
der awa ; 
For he's honnie and braw, weel-favour d 
wit ha'. 
And his hair has a natural buckle 
and a'. 
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae 
blue; 
His fecket' is white as the new- 
driven snaw ; 
His hose they are blae, and his shoon 
like the slae, 
And his clear siller buckles they 
dazzle us a'. 
His coat i? the hue, &c. 

For beauty and fortune the laddie's 
been courtin ; 
Weel-fcatvir'd, weel-tocher'd, weel- 
niounted and braw ; 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him 
gang till her. 
The pennie's the jewel that beautifies 
a'. 



An under waijtcoat having sleeves. 



There's Meg wi' the mailin, that faia 
wad a haen him, 
And Susy whase daddy was Laird o* 
the ha' ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maisi 
fetters his fancy, 
— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'e« 
dearest of a'. 



THE RANTIN DOG THE 
DADDIE O'T.' 

tune — "east nook o' fifk." 

O WHA my babie-clouts will buy? 
Wha will tent me when I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? 

The rantin dog the daddie o't. 
Wha will own he did the faut? 
Wha will buy my groanin maut? 
Wha will tell ine how to ca't ? 

The rantin dog the daddie o't. 
When I moiuit the creopie-chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair. 

The rantin dog the daddie o't. 
Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wha will mak me fidgin fain ? ' 
Wha will kiss me o'er again ? 

The rantin dog tlie daddie o't. 



I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAB 
FAIR. 

I DO confess thou art sae fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs ^ in luve ; 

Had I not found the slightest prayer. 
That lips could speak, thy heart could 
muve. 



' I composed this song pretty early 
in life, and sent it to a young girl, a 
very particular acquaintance of mine, 
who was at the time under a cloud.— 
R. K. The "young girl" was Eliza* 
beth Paton. , 

' Tickled with pleasure. 

3 Ears. 



SONGS. 



I dc c nifess thee sweet, but find 
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 

Thy favours are the silly wind 
That kisses ilka vhing it meets. 

See yonder rose-bud rich in dew, 
Arnang its native briers sae coy, 

How soon it tines its scent and hue. 
When pu d and worn a common toy ! 

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide ; 

Though thou may gaily bloom awhile. 
Vet soon thou shall be thrown aside. 
Like ony common weed and vile. 



VON WILD MOSSY MOUN- 
TAINS. 

Von wild mossy mountains, sae lofty 

and wide, 
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' 

the Clyde, 
Wliere the grouse lead their coveys 

thro' the heather to feed, 
And the shepherd tents his flock, as he 

pipes on his reed : 
Where the grouse, &c. 

Not Cowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's 

sunny shores. 
To me hae the charms o' yon wild 

mossy moors ; 
For there, by a lanely, sequester'd, 

clear stream. 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and 

my dream. 

Amang the wild mountains shall still 

be my path, 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green 

narrow strath ; 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang 

I rove. 
While o'er us, unheeded, fly the swift 

hours o' love. 

She is not the fairest, altho' she is 

fair; 
O' nice education but sma' is her 

share ; 
Her parentage humble as humble can 

be; 
Hut I lo'e the dear lassue, because she 

lo'es me. 



To beauty what man but maun v''-W 

him a prize, 
In her armour of glances, and blush'-s, 

and sighs ? 
And when wit and refinement hae pol- 

ish'd her darts. 
They dazzle our een, as they fly to our 

hearts. 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the 

fond sparkling e'e, 
Has lustre out-shining the diamond to 

me; 
And the heart beating love, as I'm 

clasp'd in her arms, — 
O, these are my lassie's all-conquering 

charms! 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER 
DOOR? 

Wha is that at my bower door? 

O wha is it but Findlay ; 
Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here I 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak ye sae like a thief? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
Before the morn ye' 11 work mischief; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
Gif I rise and let you in ; 

Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye'll keep me waukin" wi' your din ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay ; 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
Here this night if ye remain ; 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay; 
I dread ye'll learn the gate again ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower — 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



THE BONNIE BLINK O' MARY'S 

E'E. 

Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green. 

An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring • 



IK 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



By GIr\'an' s fair>'-haunted stream 
The birdies flit on wanton wing. 

To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's, 
Tliere wi' my Mary let me flee, 

There catch her ilka glance o" love. 
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e"e ! 

The chield wha boasts o' warld's wealth, 

Is often laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' my ain, — 

Ah, fortune canna gie me mair ! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks 

Wi' her the lassie dear to me, 
And catch her ilka glance o' love. 

The bonnie blink o" Mary's e'e ! 



wage 



FAREWELL TO NANCY/ 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 

Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 

Deep in heart-wnmg tears I'll pledge 

thee ! 
Warring sighs and groans I'l 

thee. 

Who shall say that fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
But to see her, was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly. 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly. 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted ! 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure. 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure. 
Ae fond kis^, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever I 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge 

thee. 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage 

thee. 



* Supposed to have been addressed 
to C^larinda. 



THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S 
FAR AWA. 

TUNE — "OWRE THE HILLS AND FAI 
AWA." 

O HOW can I be blithe and glad, 
Or how can I gang brisk and l)raw. 

When the bonnie lad that I lo'e l)cst 
Is o'er the hills and far awa / 

It's no the frosty winter wind, 

It's no the driving drift and snaw ; 

But ay the te.ar comes in my e'e. 
To think on him that's far awa. 

My father pat me frae his door. 

My friends they hae disown'd me a': 

But I hae ane will take my part. 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

A pair o' gloves he gae to me. 

And silken snoods ' he gae me twa ; 

And I will wear them for his sake. 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

The weary winter soon will pass, 
And spring will cleed^ the birken- 
shaw ; 

And my sweet babie will be born. 
And he'll come hame that's far awa. 



THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF 
ANNA. 

TUNE — "banks of BANNA." 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wuie, 

A place where body saw na' ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of Anna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness, 

Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye raonarchs, tak the east and west. 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 

* Ribands for binding the hair. 
» Clothe. 



SONGS. 



189 



There I'll despise imperial charms. 

An Empress, or Sultana, 
WTiile dying raptures in her arms, 

I give and take with Anna ! 

Awa, thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa, thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night, 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a' 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi" my Anna ! 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Anna of the gowden locks was a 
m liden of Dumfries ; and Burns thought 
so much of this piece that he recom- 
mended it to Thomson for publication ; 
but irritated, perhaps, at his refusal, 
* wrote this additional postscript," says 
Cunningham, "in defiance of his cold- 
er-blooded critic." 

The kirk and state may join, and tell 
To do such things I maunna ; 

The kirk and state may gae to hell, 

^ And I'll gae to my Anna. 

She is the sunshine o' my ee,^ 
To live bot her I canna ; 

Had I on earth but wishes three. 
The first should be mj- Aima. 



OUT OVER THE FORTH. 

Out over the Forth I look to the north. 
But what is the north and its High- 
lands to mt: ■? 
ITie south nor the east gie ease to my 
breast, 
1 he far foreign land, or the wdld roll- 
ing sea. 

Bui look to the west when I gae to rest. 
That happy my dreams and my slum- 
bers may be ; 

For far in the west, lives he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my babie and 



BANKS OF DEVON. 



How pleasant the banks of the clear- 
winding Devon, 
With green-spreading bushes, and 
flowers blooming fair I 
But the bonniest flower on the banks 
of the Devon, 
Was once a sweet bud on the braes 
of the Ayr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing 
• flower. 
In the gay rosy mom as it bathes in 
the dew ! 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal 
shower, 
ITiat steals on the evening each leaf 
to renew. 

O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient 
breezes, 
With chill hoar>- wing as ye usher 
the dawn ! 
And far be thou distant, thou reptile 
that seizes 
The verdure and pride of the garden 
and lawn ! 

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded 
lilies, 
And England triumphant display hef 
proud rose ; 
A fairer than either adorns the greeo 
valleys 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, mean- 
dering flows. 



ADOWN WINDING NITH. 

TUNE — "the MUCKIN o' GEORUIES 
BYRE." 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
To mark the swee' flowers as they 
spring ; 

Adown winding Nith I did wander. 
Of Phillis- to muse and to sing. 

^ Composed on Charlotte, a sistei oi 
the poet's friend Gavin Hamiltoi\. 
=* Miss Phillis M'Murdo. 



190 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



CHORUS. 
Awa wi' your belles and your beauties, 
They never wi" her can compare ; 
Wbaever has met wi' my Phillis, 
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, 
So artless, so simple, so wild ; 

Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 
For she is simplicity's child. 
Awa, & :. 

The rosebud's the blush o' my charmer. 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast. 
Awa, &c. 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 

They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 
Her breath is the breath o' the wood- 
bine. 
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
Awa, &c. 

Her voice is the song of the morning 
That wakes through the green- 
spreading grove, 
When Phoebus peeps over the moun- 
tains. 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 
Awa, &c. 
But beauty how frail and how fleeting. 
The blouni of a fine summer's day ! 
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
Will flourish without a decay. 
Awa, S:c. 



THE DEIL'S AWA WF THE 
EXCISEMAN,' 

The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 
And danf:'d awa wi' the Exciseman ; 

And ilka wife cry'd, " Auld Mahoun, 
We wish you luck o' your prize, man. 

^ At a meeting of his brother Excise- 
men in Dumfries, Burns, being called 
I poll for a song, handed these verses 
lo the i)residenl, written on the back 
of a letter. — Cromek. 



"We'll mak our maut, and brew oi:i 
drink. 
We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice 
man ; 
ind monie thanks to the mucklc 
black Deil 
That danc'd awa wi' the Excise- 
man. 

"There's threesome reel.-., ami four- 
some reels. 
There's hornpipes and strathspeys 
man ; 
But the ae best dance e'er cam to oii< 
Ian', 
Was — The Deil's awa wi' the Ez- 
cisenian. 
We'll mak our maul," &c. 



BLITHE HAE I BEEN ON VON 
HILL. 

TUNE — "LIGGERAM COSH."' 

Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

^s the breeze flew o'er me : 
Now nae langer sport and play. 

Mirth or sang can please me ? 
Les.ie is sae fair and coy, 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy is the task. 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I do nocht but glowr. 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 
If she winna ease the thraws 

In my bosom swelling ; 
Underneath the grass-green sod 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 



O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC 
FAIR. 

TUNE — "HUGHIE graham." 

O WERE my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 

And I a bird to shelter there, 

When wearied on my little wing ; 



SONGS. 



191 



I low I wad mourn, when it was torn 

By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 
IJut I wad sing on wanton wing, 

When youthfu' May its bloom re- 
new'd. 
O ^in my love were yon red rose 

That grows upon the castle wa'. 
And I mysel' a drap o' dew. 

Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 
Oh ! there beyond expression blest, 

I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 

Till fley'd awa' by Phcebus' light.* 



COME, LET ME TAKE THEE. 

TUNE — "CAULD KAIL." 

Come, let me take thee to my breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder : 
And I shall spum as vilest dust 

The world's wealth and grandeur : 
And do I hear my Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her? 
I ask for dearest life alone 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share. 

Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
And bji thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow. 

And break it shall I never. 



WHERE ARE THE JOYS. 

TUHE — "saw ye my father?" 

Where are the joys I have met in the 
morning, 
That danc'd to the lark's early song? 
\\Tiere is the peace that awaited my 
wand'ring, 
At evening the wild woods among ? 

' The third and fourth verses are 
jopicd from Wiiherspoon's ** Collection 
of Scotch Songi." 



No more a-winding the course of yon 
river. 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair: 
No more I trace the light footsteps of 
pleasure. 
But sorrow ajid sad sighing care. 

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys. 
And grim, surly winter is near ? 

No, no ! the bees hununing round the 
gay roses 
Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to dis- 
cover. 
Yet long, long too well have I known : 
All that has caus'd this wreck in my 
bosom. 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are 
immortal, 
Not hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come, then, enamour'd and fond of my 
anguish, 
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



O SAW YE MY DEAR 



TUNE — WHEN SHE CAM BEN SHB 
BOBBIT." 

O SAW ye my dear, my Phely ? 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely? 
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a 
new love. 
She winna come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 

She lets thee to wit that she has thee 

forgot. 

And for ever disowns thee, her Willy 

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou'a 

fair, 
Thou'st broken the heart o' thy 

Willy. 



r 



WORKS OF burn:*. 



TllOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, 
J AM IE. ^ 

TUNK— " FEE HIM, FATHER." 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left nie ever ; 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever ; 
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye— 

I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
ni see thee never ! 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 
I'hou hast me forsaken ; 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 
I'hou hast me forsaken. 

Thou canst love anither jo, 
While my heart is breaking ; 

Soon my weary een Ml close- 
Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken 1 



MY CHLORIS. 

*MV LODGING IS ON THE 
COLD GROUND." 



My Chloris, mark how 



the 



green 
groves,' 
TJie primrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the flowers. 

And wave thy flaxen liair. 
The lav'rock shuns the palace gay. 

And o'er the cottage smgs : 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween. 
To shepherds, as to kings. 

' This song was written, as the author 
tells us, " by the lee-side of a bowl of 
punch," which had already conquered 
every other guest. 

'^ On my visit the other day to my 
fair Chloris 'that is the poetic name of 
the lovely goddess of my inspiration) 
she suggested an idea, which I, on my 
return from the visit, wrought into the 
following song. — To Mr. Thomson, 
Nov. 17.H. 



Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' stnnj 

Li lordly lighted ha' ; 
The shepherd stops his simple reed. 

Blithe in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 
Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 

But are their hearts as light as ours 
Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 
In shepherd's phrase will woo : 

The courtier tells a finer tale ;— 
But is his heart as true ? 

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, tr 
deck 
That spotless breast of thine : 

The courtiers' gems may witness love- 
But 'tis na love hke mine. 



CHARMING MONTH OF MAY.^ 

TUNE — " DAINTY DAVIE." 

It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flowers were fresh and 
^ gay. 

One mornmg, by the break of day, 
The youthful, charming Chloe ; 

From peaceful slumber she arose. 
Girt on her mantle and her hose. 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes. 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

CHORUS. 

Lovely was she by the dawn, 
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 

Tnppuig o'er the pearly lawn. 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feather'd people you might see 
Perch'd all around on every tree. 
In notes of sweetest meludy 
They hail the charming Chloe : 



Cut down," to adopt the phi 
of Bums, from a song in Ra.n.^. 
" Tea-Table Miscellany." 



SpI^GS. 



»93 



mi, paiiiting gay the eastern skies. 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rivall'd by the radiant ej-es 
Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
Lovely was she, &c. 



LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COM- 
PLAIN. 

TUNE — " DUNCAN GRAY." 

Let not woman e'er complain 

Of inconstancy in love ; 
l,et not woman e'er complain, 

Fickle m%n is apt to rove : 
Look a'oroa 1 through Nature's range. 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, 

Man should then a monster prove ? 
Mark the winds, and mark the skies ; 

Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 
Sun and moon but set to rise ; 

Round and round the seasons go. 
Why then ask of silly man, 
To oppose great Nature's plan ? 
We'll be constant while we can — 

You can be no more, vou know. 



O PHILLY.* 



TUNE—" THE SOW S TAIL. 



O Philly, happy be that day 
When, roving through the gather'd hay. 
My yt^uthfu heart was stown away. 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 



O Willy, aye I bless the grove 
Where first I own'd my maiden love. 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers 
above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 



* These verses were composed in a 
H(Ctning walk, " through a ke'^n-blow- 
iog frost." 



HB. 



As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly. 

SHE. 

As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer bic »?, 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

HE. 

The milder sun and bluer sky. 
That crown my harvest cares wi' jcy, 
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye 
As is a sight o' Philly. 

SHE. 
The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring. 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

HE. 

The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, 
Upon the lips o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The woodbine in the dewy weet. 
When evening shades in silence meet. 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 

As is a kiss o' Willy. 
HE. 
Let fortune's wheel at random rin. 
And fools may tyne, and knaves may 

win ; 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane. 

And that's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE. 

\Vhat's a' the joys that gowd can glw 
I care na wealth a single Hie ; 
The lad I love's the lad for me, 
And that's my ain dear Willy. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

A BALLAD. 

There were three Kings mto the eis^ 

Three Kings both great and high ; 

O 



«94 



WORKS Oh BUKIM^. 



An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and plough'd him 
down, 
Put clods upon his head ; 

An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 
John Ba.leycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, 

And showers began to fall ; 
Jolin Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd them all. 
The sultry suns of Summer came, 

And he grew thick and strong, 
Ilis head weel arni'd wi' pointed spears, 

That no one should him wrong. 
The sober Autumn enter'd mild, 

When he grew wan and pale ; 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Show'd he began to fail. 
His colour sicken'd more and more. 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon, long and 
sharp, 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart. 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 

And cudgel'd him full sore ; 
They hung him up before the storm, 

And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 
They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 
They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him farther woe ; 
And still, as signs of life appear' d. 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, 

'YiiQ marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all, 

iFor he crush'd him 'tween two 
stones. 
And they hae ta'en his very heart's 
blood. 

And drank it round and round ; 
Aiid still the more and more they drank. 

Their joj did more abound. 



John Barleycorn was a hero bold* 

Of noble enterprise ; 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'I'will make your courage rise ; 
'Twill make a man forget his woe , 

''I'will heighten all his joy : 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sin^ 

1 ho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
Each man a glass in hand ; 

And may his great posterity 
Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME 
THUS. 

TUNE — " ROV'S WIFE." 
CHORUS. 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy t 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy t 
Well thou know'st my aching heart,- - 
And canst thou leave me thus fur pity I 

Is this thy plighted, fond regard, 
'J'hus cruelly to part, my Katy V 

Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? 
Canst thou, &;c. 

Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 

That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 

Thou may'st find those will love thco 

dear — 

But not a love like mine, my Katy. 

Canst thou, &c. 



ON CHLORIS lEING ILL. 

TUNE — "ay WAUKIN O." 
CHORUS. 

Long, long the night. 

Heavy comes the morrow. 

While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 

Can I cease to care ? 

Can I cease to languish. 
While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguisL ' 
Long, &c. 



SOJ\/^GS. 



Every hope is fled, 
Every fear is terror ; 

Slumber even I dread. 
Every dream is horror. 
Long, &c. 

Hear me, Pow'rs divine ! 

Oh ! in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine. 

But my Chloris spare me ! 
Long, &c. 



THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 

TL'NE — "corn rigs ARE BONNIE." 

It was upon a Lammas night. 

When corn rigs are bonnie. 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed, 

Till 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 

To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely ; 
My blessing on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright. 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She aye shall bless that happy night 

Amaiig the rigs o' barley, 

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear ; 

I hae been merry drinkin ; 
I Iiae b-en joyfu" gath'rin gear ; 

I hae been happy thinking : 
B ^t a' the plsa.'iures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 
fhat happy light was worth them a', 

Amang the rigs j' barley. 



CHORl s. 
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, 

An' corn rigs are bonnie : 
I'll ne'er forget that happy night 

Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



FAREWELL TO ELIZA.^ 

TUNE — " GILDEROV." 

From thee, Eliza, I must go. 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar ; 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my Love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear. 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heart 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh ! 



MY NANNIE, O. 

Behind >-on hills where Lugar flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, < ), 

The wintry sun the day has clos'fl, 
And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrill : 
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O 1 

But I'll get my plaid, an' out 111 steal. 
An' owre the hill to Nannie, O. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' 
young ; 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 



' The editors of Rums have discover- 
ed two Elizas — and perhaps a future 
inquirer may enlarge the niunber. 
o a 



'9C 



iroRA's OF Birxys. 



Her f jcc is fair, her hearl is true, 
As spotless as she's bonnie, O : 
t The opning gowan, wat wi' dew, 

Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care 1 how few they be? 
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 

My riches a's my penny-fee. 
An' 1 maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a', my Nannie, O. 

Our auld Guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 

But I'm as blythe that hands his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weal, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heaven will sen' me, O; 

Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES.' 

A FRAGMENT. 

CHORUS, 
Green grow the rashes, O ; 

Grccii grow the rashes, ; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent. 

Were spent amang the lasses, O ! 

There's nought but care on ev'rj' ban'. 
In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 

What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &c, 

* On this song Bums indites the fol- 
lowing note: — "I do not see that 
th^turn of mind and pursuits of such a 
one as the above verses describe — one 
who spends the hours and thoughts 
which the vocations of the day can 
spare — with (^ssian, Shakespeare, 
Thomson, Shenstone, Sterne, &C., are 
\n the least more inimical to the sacred 
interests of piety and virtue, than the, 
even lawful, bustling and straining 
after vhe world's ri:hes and honours." 



The warly race may riches chas«s. 
An' riches still may tly them, O ; 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast. 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, CX 
Green grow, &c. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' warly cares, an' warly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 
Green grow, ^c. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
^'e're nought but senseless asses, O ; 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &c. 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

Her 'prentice han' she tried on man. 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow, v>s:c. 



NOW WESTLIN WINDS. 

TUNE — "l HAD A HORSE, I HAD NAB 
MAIR." 

Now westlin winds and slaught'ring 
guns 
Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring 
wings, 
Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain. 

Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when I 
rove at night 
To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The plover loves I lie inuuntains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lunely tlells; 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Thro' lofty groves tiie cushat roves. 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their jileasure find. 
The savage and the tender ; 

Some social join, and ieagres con/ bine 
Some solitary wander ; 



SONGS. 



»97 



Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

'1 yrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, 

'J'he fluttVing gory pinion ! 
Put, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear. 

Thick Hies the skimming swallow ; 
TTie sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading-green and yellow : 
(Jome, let us stray our gladsome way, 

And vii.'W the charms of nature ; 
The rustling com, the fruited thorn. 

And ev'ry liappy creature. 
We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk. 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest. 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Not autumn to the farmer. 
So dear can be, as thou to me. 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



THE BIG-BELLIED BOTTLE. 

TUNE — "prepare, MY DEAR BRE- 
THREN, TO THE TAVERN LET's FLY." 

No churchman am I for to rail and to 

write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to 

fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a 

snare, 
For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of 

my care. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his 

bow ; 
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so 

low ; 
But a club of good fellows, like those 

that are here. 
And a bottle like this, are my glory 

and care. 

Here passes the squire on his brother 

— iiis horse ; 
There otntum per centum, the cit with 

his purse ; 
But see you the Crown how it waves in 

the air? 
TTiere a big-bellied bottle still eases my 

care 



The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did 

die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did 

fly; 
I found that old Solomon proved it tair, 
That the big-bellied bottle's a cure for 

all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to 

make ; 
A letter inform'd me that all was to 

wreck ; 
But the pursy old landlord just wa i- 

dled up-stairs 
With a glorious boctle that ended rr y 

cares. 

"Life's cares they are comforts,"' a 

maxim laid down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that 

wore the black gown ; 
And, faith, I agree with th' old prig to 

a hair. 
For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'n of 

care. 

A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it 

o'erflow. 
And honours masonic prepare for to 

throw ; 
May ev'ry true brother of the compass 

and square 
Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd 

with care. 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL 
TO HIS NATIVE COUNTRY.' 

TUNE — "rOSLIN CASTLE." 

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 

* Young^s " Night Thoughts." 
^ Bums had been visiting the min- 
ister of Loudon, and his homeward path 
led him over solitary moors in a dark 
and windy evening of autumn. P'or 
some days, in his own words, he had 
been "skulking from covert to covert 
under all the terrors of a jail ; " and 
expecting almost immediately to em- 



iq8 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



I Yon murky cloud is foul \vith rain, 

. I see it driving o'er the plain ; 

I The hunter now has left the moor, 

The scatter'd coveys meet secure, 

' While here I wander, prest with care, 

Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 
By early Winter's ravage torn : 
Across her placid, azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare. 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 
'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear. 
The wretched have no more to fear : 
But round my heart the ties are bound. 
That heart transpierc'd with many a 

wound ; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the boimie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales. 
Her heathy moors and winding vales; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! Farewell, my 

foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with 

those — 
The bursting tears my heart declare ; 
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr ! 



THE FAREWELL. 

TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES's 
LODGE, TARBOLTON. 

Tl/NE — "gUID night, and JOY BE 
Wl' VOU a'!" 

AniEU ! a heart -warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd i^'^. 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie. 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba', 

bark for Jamaica, l>e designed these 
lines a;i a "farewell dirge to his native 
land." 



With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'. 
Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night 
Oft, honour'd with supreme coinnianu, 

Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And by that hieroglj'phic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa' ! 
May freedom, harmony, and love. 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath the Om.iiscient eye above, 

The glorious Architect Divine ! 
That you may k^ep th' unerring line, 

Still rising by the plummet's law. 
Till Order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my prayr when far awa'. 

And You,' farewell ! whose merits 
claim. 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble 
name, 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, 

When j'early ye assemble a', 
One round — I ask it with a tear. 

To him, the Bard that's far awa'. 



AND MAUN I STILL ON 
MENIE^' DOAT. 

tune — " jockey's GREY BREEKS." 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hues. 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze. 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

CHORUS.3 
And maun I still on Menie doat, 
And bear the scorn that's in het 
e'e? 

* Sir John Whiteford, the Grand 
Master. 

^ Menie is the common abbreviation 
of Marianne. — R. B. 

3 This chorus is part of a song com- 
posed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, a 
particular friend of the authoi. — R. B. 



SONGS. 



'99, 



Foi Its jet, jet black, an' its like a 
hawk, 
An' it winna let a body be ! 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw. 
In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 

In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 
And maun I still, &c. 

The merry ploughljoy cheers his team, 
VVi" joy the tentie seedsman stalks, 

B It life to me's a weary dream, 
t A dream of ane that never wauks. 

i And maun I still, &c. 

I he wanton coot ' the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And everything is blest but I. 
And maun I still, &c. 

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding 
slap,= 
And owre the moorland whistles 
shrill ; 
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 
And maun I still, &c. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and 
dark, 
BIythe waukens by the daisy's side, 
And mounts and sings on flittering 3 
wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 
And maun I still, &c. 

Come Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless 
soul. 
When Nature all is sad like me ! 

And maun I still on Menie doat, 
And bear the scorn that's in her 
e'e? 
For its jet, jet black, an' it's like a 
hawk. 
All' it winna let a body be. 



» Water-fowl. 

■ Shuts the gate of the fold. 

3 Trembling. 



HIGHLAND MARY.» 

TUNE — " KATHARINE OGIE." 

Ye banks, and braes, and stream* 
around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair yoni 
flowers, 

Your waters never drumlle !' 
There simmer first unfald her robes. 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay greea 
birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings. 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life. 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' inonie a vow, and lock'd embracCi 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the 
clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 

And closed for aye the sparkling glance. 
That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 



' The foregoing song pleases myself ; 
I think it is in my happiest manner. 
You will see at first glance that it suits 
the air. The subject of the song is one 
of the moHt interesting passages of my 
3'ouihful days ; and 1 own that I should 
be much flattered to see the verses set 
to an air which would ensure celebrity. 
Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still growing 
prejudice of my heart that throws a 
borrowed lustre over the merits of tb« 
composition. — R. B. 

2 Muddy. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



And inould'ring now in silent dust, 
1 hat heart that lo"ed me dearly ! 

But still within my bosom's core 
Shall live my Highland Mary. 



AULD LANG SYNE.' 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min' ? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 



For auld lang syne, my dear. 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll lak a cup o' kindness yet. 

For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes>, 

And pud the gowans fine ; 
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot 
Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 
IVe twa hae paidl't i' the burn. 

From mornin sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 
And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,* 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we 11 tak a right guid willie- 
waught,^ 
For auld lang syne. 
For auld, &:c. 
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, 

And surely Til be mine ; 
And we'll lak a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 
For auld, ^C* 

* An old song into which Burns threw 
some of his own fire. 

Friend. ^ Draught. 

^ Your meeting, which you so well 
describe, with your old schoolfellow 
and friend, was truly interesting. Out 
upon the ways of the world ! Ihey 
spoil these "social offsprings of the 
heart." I'wo veterans of the "men of 
the world " would have met with little 
more heart-workings than two old 



BANN^CkiiLRN.* 

ROBERT BKUCE's ADDRESS TO HI! 

AK.MV. 

TUNE — "hey TUTTIE, TAITIE." 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed. 

Or to glorious victorie. 
Now's the day, and now's the hour 
See the front o' battle lour : 
See approach proud Edward's pow'r»« 

Edward ! chains and slaveric ! 

hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, 
is not the Scotch phrase, " Auld lang 
syne," exceedingly expressive? T here 
is an old song and time which has 
often thrilled through my soul ; I 
shall give you the verses in the other 
sheet. Light be the turf on the breast 
of the heaven-inspired poet who com- 
posed this glorious fragment I — To Mrs. 
DnnloJ>, Dec. 17, 1788; and to Mr. 
Thomson, Septcjiibrr, 1793 : — The air 
is but mediocre ; but the following song, 
the old song of the olden times, and 
which has never been in print, nor even 
in manuscript, until I took it down 
from an old man's singing, is enough to 
recommend any air. 

* A friend had got a " grey High- 
land shelty " for lUirns, and he made a 
little excursion on it into Galloway. He 
was particularly >truck with the scenery 
round Kenmore. From that place he 
and his conip.Tnion took the Moor- 
road to Gatehouse, the dreary country 
being lighted up by frequent gleams 
of a thunderstorm, which soon poured 
down a flood of rain. Burns spoke 
not a word. "What do you think he 
was about?" asked his fellow-travel- 
ler, relating the ad\enture. "He was 
charging the English army alone with 
Bruce at Bannockburn. He was 
engaged in the same manner on oui 
ride home from St. Mary's Isle. I did 
not disturb him. Next day he pro- 
duced the t"ollo\\ing address of Bruce 
to his troops." — Mr. Svwe, q"oted b^ 
Czim\\ i. 211. 



SONGS. 



Wha will be » traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
Wha sac base as be a slave ? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ? 
Wha for Scotland's King and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa' ? 

(Jalodonian ! on wi' mz ! 
By Oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains, 
We will drain our dearest veins, 

But they shall — they shall be free ! 
Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fill in every foe ! 
Liberty'f in every Ijlow ! 

Forward ! let us do, or die ! * 



THE GALLANT WEAVER. 

ruNK— "the auld wife avont the 

FIRE." 

Where Cart rins rowin^ to the sea, 
By monie a flow'r and spreading tree, 
There lives a lad, the lad for me, 

He is a gallant weaver. 
Oh, I had wooers aught or nine. 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine, 

And I gied it to the weaver. 
My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,' 
To gie the lad that has the land, 
B it to my heart I'll add my hand. 

And gie it to the weaver. 

' Independent of my enthusiasm as 
t Scotchman, I have rarely met with 
anything in history which interests my 
feelings as a man equal with the story 
of Bannockburn. On the one hand, a 
cruel but able usurper leading on the 
finest army in Europe to extinguish 
the last J park of freedom among a 
greatly-daiing and greatly-injured peo- 
ple ; on the other hand, the desperate 
relics of a gallant nation, devoting 
themselves to rescue their bleeding 
country, or to perish with her. — Burns 
to Earl of Bvchan, Jan. 12, 1794. 

^ Rolling, 3 Marriage bond. 



While birds rejoice in leafy bowers . 
While bees rejoice in opening flowers , 
While corn grows green in simmer 
showers, 
I'll love my gallant weaver. 



SONG. 



Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 
And waste my soul with care ; 

But ah ! how bootless to admire, 
When fated to despair ! 

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair. 
To hope may be forgiven ; 

For, sure, 'twere impious to despaii 
So much in sight of heaven. 



FOR A' THAT AND A' T HAT. 

Is there, for honest poverty. 

That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward-slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea stamp; 
The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 
Wear hodden-grey,' and a' that ; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves theii 
wine, 
A man's a man, for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

I'heir tinsel show, and a' that : 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 
Is King o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie,^ ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word. 
He's but a coof ^ for a' that : 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His riband, star, and a' that. 
The man of independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 



' Coarse wooller cloth. 
Conceited fellow. 3 Blockhead 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 
Guid faith, he mauna fa' ' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that, 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' 
worth. 
Are higher ranks than a' that. 
TLcn let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that ; 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
May bear the gree,^ and a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 
' It's coming yet, for a' that ; 
That man to man, the warld o'er. 
Shall brothers be for a' that. 



TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 

TUNE — " THE HOPELESS LOVER." 

Now spring has clad the groves in 
green. 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ; 
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ! 
The trout within yon wimpling bum 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was once that careless stream 

That wanton tr6ut was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam. 

Has scorch'd my fountain dry. 
The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In 3'^onder cliff that grows. 
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit knows. 
Was mine : till love has o'er me past. 

And blighted a' my bloom, 
And now beneath the withering blast, 

My youth and joy consume. 
I'he waken'd lav' rock warbling springs. 

And climbs the early sky, 



Try. 



May be conquerois. 



Winnowing blitho her dewy win}^ 

In morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power. 

Until the flowery snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour. 

Made me the thrall o' care. 
O had my fate been Greenland suowi| 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes. 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " Hopt 
nae mair !" 

What tongue his woes can tell ? 
Within whose bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER. 

TUNE — " THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S 
DELIGHT." 

Why, why tell thy lover, 
Bliss he never must enjoy? 

Why, why undeceive him, 

And give all his hopes the lie ? 

O why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumbers, 
Chloris, Chloris, all the theme ! 

Why, why wouldst thou, cruel, 
Wake thy lover from his dream ? 



TUNE- 



CALEDONIA. 



THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S 
DELIGHT." 



There was once a day, but old Time 
then was young, 
That brave Caledonia, the chief of 
her line. 
From some of your northern deities 
sprung : 
(W^ho knows not that brave Caledo- 
nia's divine?) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was her 
domain, 
To hunt, or to pasture, or do what 
she would : 
Her heavenly relations there fixed her 
reign. 
And pledg'd her their godheads to 
warrant it good. 



SOI^GS. 



A lambkin in peace, but a 'ion in war. 
The pride of her kindred the heroine 
grew ; 
Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly 
swore, 
" Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' 
encounter shall rue !" 
With tillage, or pasture, at times she 
would sport, 
To feed her fair flocks by her green 
rustling corn ; 
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite 
resort. 
Her darling amusement, the hounds 
and the horn. 

Long quiet she reign'd ; till thither- 
ward steers 
A flight of bold eagles from Adria's^ 
strand ; 
Repeated, successive, for many long 
years. 
They darken'd the air, and they 
plunder'd the land : 
Their pounces were murder, and terror 
their cry. 
They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world 
beside ; 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let 
fly- 
The daring invaders they fled or they 
died. 

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from 
the north. 
The scourge of the seas and the dread 
of the shore ; 
The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd 
forth 
To wanton in carnage and wallow in 
gore:^ 
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury 
prevail'd, 
No arts could appease them, no arms 
could repel ; 
But brave Caledonia in vain they as- 
sail'd. 
As Largs well can witness, and Lon- 
cartie tell.3 



* The Romans. 

" The Saxons and Danes. 

^ Two famous battles in which the 



The Cameleon-savage disturbed her re- 
pose. 
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and 
strife ; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she 
arose. 
And robb'd him at once of his hopes 
and his life : 
The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 
Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's 
silver flood ; 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian 
lance, 
He learned to fear in his own native 
wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, 
and free. 
Her bright course of glory for ever 
shall run : 
For brave Caledonia immortal must 
be; 
I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as 
the sun : 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll 
choose. 
The upright is Chance, and old Time 
is the base ; 
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse ; 
Then, ergo, she'll match them, and 
match them always.' 



ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF- 
MUIR, BETWEEN THE DUKE 
OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL 
OF MAR.^* 

TUNE — "the CAiMERONIAN RANT," 

"O CAM ye here the fight to shun ? 
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 

Danes or Norwegians weie defeated . — 
Currie. 

^ This singular figure of poetiy refers 
to the 47th proposition ^f Euclid. In 
a right-angled tri.Migle, the square of 
the hypothenuse is always equal to 
the square of the two other sides.— 
C'-rrie. 

* This poem, I am pretty well con 



WORKS OF BURN'S. 



Or were you at the Sherra-muir, 
And did the battle see, man?" 
I saw the battle sair and tough, 
And reeking-ied ran monie a sheugh,^ 
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough, 
To hear the tliuds,' and see the cluds,^ 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,^ 
VVha glaum'dS at Kingdoms three, 
man. 

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
T hey rush'd and push'd, and blude out- 
gush'd. 
And monie a bouk^ did fa', man ; 
The great Argyle led on his files, 
I vvat they glanced twenty miles : 
They hack'd and ha'ih'd, while broad- 
swords clash d. 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and 
smash'd. 
Till /'ey ^ men died awa, man. 
But had you seen the philibegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews,^ man, 
When in the teeth they dard our 
Whigs, 
And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large. 
When bayonets oppose the targe, 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge 
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the 

sheath. 
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath, 
They fled like frighted doos,9 man. 

"O how deil, Tarn, can that be true? 

The chase gaed frae the north, man : 
r saw mysel, they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight. 
They took the brig'° wi' a' their might. 
And straught to Stirling wing'd their 

flight : 
But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut, 
And monie a huntit, poor red -coat, 

For fear amaist did swarf," man." 

vinced, is not my brother's, but more 
ancient than his birth.— G. U. 

' Ditch. ^ Noises. •> Clouds. 

* Clothes. 5 Snatched at. 6 Body. 

7 Marked for death. 

8 Trousers. 9 Doves 
*° Biidge. " Swoon 



My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their left-hand general had nae skiH 
The Angus lads had nae guid-wili 
That day their neebors' blood to spill , 
For fear, by foes, that they should 

lose 
Their cogs o' brose, they scar'd <il 
blows. 
And so it goes, you see, man. 

They've lost some gallant gentlemen 

Amang the Highland clans, man; 
I fear my Lord Pannuire is slain. 

Or fallen in enmies hands, man : 
Now wad ye sing this double fight, 
Some fell for wrang, and some fci 

right ; 
But monie bade the world guid-night ; 
Then ye may tell, how pelfand mell. 
By red ciayniores, and nuiskets' knell, 
Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell, ' 
And Whigs to hell did flee, man. 



THE 
DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

TUNE — "push about THE JORUM." 

April, I79S 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat 1 

Then let the louns beware, .Sir. 
There's wooden walls upon our seas. 

And volunteers on shore, Sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,' 

And Crififel - sink to Sol way. 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 
On British ground to rally! 

Fal de ral, &c. 

O let us not like snarling tykes 3 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till slap come in an unco loon * 

And with a rung 5 decide it. 

' A high hi Jl at the source of the Nith 
^ A mountain at the mouth of th 
same river. 

3 Dogs. 4 Ragamufiin. S Cudg;i 



SONGS. 



Be Rritaxn r.tii'i to Britain true, 

Ainang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 
Maun British wrangs be righted ! 
Fal de ral, &c 
The kettle o' the kirk and state, 
Perhaps a claut may fail in't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca' ' a nail in't ; 
Our fathers' bliiid the kettle bought, 

Ami wha wad dare to spoil it ; — 
By licaven. the sacrilegious dog 
Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Fal de ral, &'. . 
The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch, his true-born brother. 
Who would set the mob aboon the 
throne, 
May ihcy l>c d— d together ! 
Who will not sing, "(Jod save the 
King," 
Shall hang as high's the steeple ; 
But while we sing, " God save the 
, King," 
We'll ne'er forget the People. 



O, WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES 
ME. 



O WHA is, she that lo'es me. 
And has iny heart a-keeping ? 

O sweet is she that lo'es me. 
As dews o' simmer jveeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping. 

CHORUS. 

O that's the lassie o' my heart. 
My lassie, ever dearer ; 

O that's the queen o' womankind, 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

li thou shalt meet a lassie. 

In grace and beauty charming. 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 
Erewhi'.e thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming; 
O that's, &c. 



If thou hadst heard her talking. 
And thy attentions plighted, 

That ilka body talking, " 
But her, by thee is slighted, 
And thou art all delighted ; 
! O that's, &c. 

I If thou hast met this fair one ; 
; When frae her thou hast parted. 
If every other fair one, 
But her, thou hast deserted. 
And thou art broken-hearted ; 
O that's the lassie o' my heart. 

My lassie ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o" womank.uiJ, 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 



Drive. 



CAPTAIN GROSE. 

TUNE — "sir JOH.V MALCOLM." 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

Igo and ago, 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 
Is he South, or is he North ? 

Igo and ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies? 

Igo and ago. 
And eaten like a wether-haggis? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane? 

Igo and ago. 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near htm J 

Igo and ago ; 
As for the deil, he daur na steer' hini. 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit th' enclosed letter 

Igo and ago, 
^Vhich will oblige your humble debtor 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld sUnes in store, 
Ipo avd igo. 



ao6 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



The verj' stanes that Adam bore, 
Irani, coram, dago. 

So may ye gsi in glad possession, 

Igo and ago, 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 



WHISI L E OWRE THE LAVE O'T. 

First wh<'n Maggy was my care, 
i leaven, 1 thouglit, was in her air ; 
Now we're married — spier nae mair ' — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonnie Mag \s as nature's child — 
Wiser men than me's beguil'd ; — 

Whistle owre the lave o't.^ 

H.A we live, my Meg and me, 
H.n\ wc love and how we 'gree, 
1 care na by how few may see — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 
WTia I wish were maggots' meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding-sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

VouNG Jockey was the blithest lad 

In a' our town or here awa ; 
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,3 

Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha' ! 
He roos'd"* my een sae bonnie blue. 

He roos"d my waist sae genty sma' ; 
An' aye my heart came to my mou. 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain. 
Thro' wind an 1 weet, thro' frost and 
snaw ; 
And o'er the lea I look fu' fain 

When Jockey's owscnS hameward 
ca'. 



* Inquire no more. 
" The rest ol it. 

* Praised. 



' The plough. 
5 Oxen. 



An' aye the night c tines roi;nd agaiu, 
When in his arms he taks me a' ; 

An' aye he vows he'll be my aip 
As lang's he has a breath to U.raw. 



M'PHERSON'S^ FAREWELL. 

Farewell, ye dungems daik Ji..d 
strong, 

The wretch's destinie . 
M'Pherson's time will not be lontf 

On yonder gallows tree. 



Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 

He play'd a spring and danc'd it 
round, 
Below the gallows tree. 

Oh, what is death but parting breath ?— 

On monie a bloody plain 
I've dar'd his face, and in this pbce 

I scorn him yet again ! 

Sae rantingly, &c. 

Untie these bands from off my hands. 
And bring to me my sword ! 

And there's no a man in all Scot'and, 
But I'll brave him at a word. 
Sae rantingly, &c. 

I've liv'd a life of sturt^ and strife ; 

1 die by treachery : 
It bums my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 

Sae rantingly, &c. 

Now farewell, light, thou sunshine 
bright, 
And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distain his iiati^. 
The wretch thaf dares not dio : 
Sae rantingly, &c. 



^ A noted Highland robber, whose 
daring is portrayed in the verses. He 
broke his violin at the foot of thd 
gallows. 

"" Trouble. 



SONGS. 



THE DEAN OF FACULTY, 



ruNE- 



A NEW BALLAD. 
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.' 



Dire was the hate at old Harlaw 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
And dire the d'scord Langside saw 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
13ut Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 

Or weic more in fury seen, Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob' for the 
famous job — 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. 

1 his Hal, for genius, wit, and lore. 

Among the first was nuinber'd ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 

Commandment tenth remember'd. 
Yet simple Bob the victory got, 

And won his heart's desire ; 
Which shows that heaven can boil the 
pot. 

Though the devil — in the fire. 

Squire Hal, besides, had, in this case, 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness. 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye 
see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision ; 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet. 

Till for eloquence you hail him. 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the ass of Balaam. 

In your heretic sins may ye live and die. 
Ye heretic eight and thirty ! 

But accept, yc sublime Majority, 
My congratulations hearty. 



Henry Erskine and Robert Dundas. 



With your Honours and a certa'n King, 
In your servants this is striking — 

The more incapacity they bring. 
The more they're to your liking. 



I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 

I'll aye ca' in by yon town. 

And by yon garden green again ; 

I'll aye ca' in by yt^.. town, 
And see my bonnie Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail 
guess, 

What brings me back the gate again. 
But she, my fairest faithfu' lass, 

And stownlins ' we sail meet again. 

She'll wander by the aiken tree, 
When trystin-tlme draws near again ; 

And when her lovely form I see, 
O haith, she's doubly dear again ! 



A BOTTLE AND FRIEND. 

There's nane that's blest of human kind, 
But the cheerful and the gay, man. 
Fal, lal, &c. 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend ! 

What wad ye wish for mair, man ? 
Wha kens, before his life maj' end. 

What his share may be o' care, man I 
Then catch the moments as they fly, 

And use them as ye ought, man : — 
Believe me, happiness is shy, 

And comes not aye when st/ug'it, man. 



I'LL KISS THEE YET. 

TUNE — "a HE BRAES O' BALQUIiiDEK 



I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 

And I'll kiss thee o'er agaJa, 
An' I'll kiss ihee yet, yet. 

My bonnie Peggy Alison ,' 



By stealth. 



<o8 



irORKS OF BURN^i, 



Ilk care an<l fear, when thou art near, 

I over niair defy ihem, O ; 
Voung Kings upon their hanseP throne 

Are no sae blest as I am, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 
When in my arms, \vi' a' thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure, O ; 
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, 

Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, itc. 
And by thy cen sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever, O ; — 
And on thy iips I seal my vow. 

And break it shall I never, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 



ON CESSNOCK BANKS.^ 

TUNE — "if he be a butcher NEAT 
AND TKIM." 

On Cessnock banks a lassie ^ dwells ; 

Could I describe her shape and mien ; 
Our lasses a' she far excels, 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
She's sweeter than the morning dawn, 

When rising Phcebus first is seen. 
And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
She's stately like yon youthful ash 

Tiiat grows the cowslip braes be- 
tween. 
And drinks the stream with vigour 
fresh ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn, 

With tlow'rs so white, and leaves so 
green. 
When purest in the dewy morn ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

' Throne first occupied. 

* This song was an early production. 
It was recovered by the editor from the 
oral comnnuiication of a lady residing 
at Glasgow, whom the bard in early life 
affectionately admired. — Cronir/c. 

3 The "kissie" was Ellison llcgbie, 
a farmer's daughter, but then the serv- 
ant of a family living about two miles 
from Bur»' 



Her looks are like the vernal May, 

When ev'ning Phoebus shines seren«J 
While birds rejoice on every spray ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
Her hair is like the curling mist 

That chmbs the mountain -:ide!; iX 
e'en, 
When flow'r-reviving rains are ^ast ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish eerw 
Her forehead's like the show'ry bow, 

When gleaming smibeams intervene. 
And gild the distant nioimtain's brow , 

An' she's twa sijarkiing, roguish een- 

Her cheeks are like yon crimson g( n. 

The pride of all the flowery scene, 
Just opening on its thorny stem ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish e«,c. 
Her teeth are like the nightly snow 

When pale the morning rises keen. 
While hid the murmuring streamletl 
flow; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish e«n 
Her lips are like yon cherries ripe. 

That sunny walls from Boreas screen 
They tempt the taste and charm "ht, 
sight ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
Her breath is like the fragrant breoi*;, 

'J'hat gently stirs the blossom'd be in. 
When Phoebus sinks behind the seat ; 

An" she's twa sparkling, roguish v-ta. 
Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush 

I'hat sings on Cessnock banks unst en. 
While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
But it's not her air, her form, her face, 

I'ho' matching beauty's fabled qjeen, 
'Tis the mind that shiies in ev'ry gr»<:e, 

An chiefly in her rc>giiish een. 



PRAYER FOR MARY.' 

TUNE — "blue BONNETS.' 

Powers celestial, whose protection 
Ever guards the virtuous fair, 

* Probably written on HiglilaiW 



SONGS. 



W .**/ ..I distant cymes 1 wander. 
Let my Mary be your care ; 

Let her form sae fair and faultless, , 
Fair and faultless as your own, — 

Let my Mary's kindred spirit 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her 

Soft ai:d peaceful as her breast ; 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 

Soothe her bosom into rest ; 
Guardian angels, O protect her. 

When in distant land^ I roam ; 
To realms unknown while fate exiles 
me. 

Make her bosom still my homa. 



YOUNG PEGGY.* 

TUNE — " LAST TIME I CAM o'eR THE 
MUIK." 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass. 

Her blush is like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass. 

With early gems adorning : 
Her ey°s outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower, 
And gl'tler o'er the crystal streams, 

Ai'd cheer each fresh'ning flower. 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye lias grac'd them, 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them : 
Her smile is as the ev'ning mild, 

When feather'd pairs are courting, 
And little lambkins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 
Such sweetness would relent her, 

As blooming Spring unbends the brow 
Of surlj' .ravage Winter. 

I »etraction's eye no aim can gain 
Her winning powers to lessen; 



M.-ry, on the eve of the Poet's de- 
f>arture to the West Indies. — Cromek. 
' 7 his was one of the poet's earliest 
♦•«ip« ^.'ions. — Croviek. 



And fretful envy grins in vaiii. 
The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye Pow'rsof Honou-, Love, andTnith, 

From ev'ry ill defend her : 
Inspire the highly favour'd youth 

The destinies intend her : 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 



THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE 
TILL JAMIE COxMES HAME. 



By yon castle wa' at the close of the 

day, 
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it 

was grey ? 
And as he was singing, the tears fast 

down came — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 

hame. 

The church is in ruins, the sUte is in 

jars. 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous 

wars ; 
We dare na weel say't, but we ken 

wha's to blame — 
There'n never be peace till Jamie comes 

hame. 

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew 

sword. 
And now I greet round their green 

beds in the yerd ; 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' 

auld dame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie 

comes hame. 

Now life is a burden that bows me 

down, 
Sin' I tint my baiins, and he tint his 

crown ; 
But till my last moment my words are 

the same — 
Ihere'U never be peace till Jamie cor i?' 

hame. 

p 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



THERE WAS A LAD. 

TUNE — "dAINTIE DAVIE." 

Th^CRE was a lad was born at Kyle/ 
Bu what'n a day o' what'n a style 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sac nice wi' Robin. 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin. 

Our monarch's hind nost year but ane 
Was five-and-twent) years begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keekit in his loof. 
Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof, 
Vhis waly boy will be nae coof, — 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma'. 
But aye a heart aboon them a', 
He'll be a credit till us a', 
., We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

But, sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see, by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So leeze me on thee, Robin. 

Ouid faith, quo' she, I doubt ye, gar, 
\e gar the lasses lie aspar. 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur, 
So blessins on thee, Robin ! 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin* ; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin. 



TO MARY.' 

TUNE — "eWE-BUGHTS, MARION." 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And lea\ e uuld Scotia's shore ? 



* Kyle, a district of Ayrshire. 

* Mary Campbell. In my very early 



Will ye go to the Indirs, my Mary, 
Across the Atlantic's roar ? 

sweet grows the lime and the or*U)^«i 
And the apple on the pine : 

But a' the charms o' the Indies 
Can never equal thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to Pii 

Mary, 
I hae sworn by the Heavens tA b<l 

true ; 
And sae may the Heavens forget :n«!, 
When I forget my \ow ! 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
And plight me your lily-white hand; 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 
In mutual affection to join. 

And curst be the cause that shall pail 
us ! 
The hour and the moment o' tim<% 



MARY MORISON. 

TUNE — " UIUE YE VET." 

Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see, 

That make the miser's treasure poor. 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,* 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure. 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
Ihe dance gaed thro' the lighted ha' 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor sow. 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braid 
And yon the toast of a' the to"*'c 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a , 
"Ye are na Mary Morison." 



years, when I was thinking of go!n4 
to the West Indies, I took the follow- 
ing farewell of a dear giil. — R. B. 
^ Dust. 



SONGS. 



O Mary, canst tliou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy s.ike wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee? 
if love for love thou wilt na gie. 

At least be pity to me shown ! 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary M orison. 



THE SODGER'S RETURN." 

AIR — "the mill, mill, O." 

Wkrn wild war's deadly blast was 
blawn, 

And giiitle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And mony a widow mourning : 
I left the lines and tented field, 

Where lang I'd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder ; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon mj' Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonnie glen. 

Where early life I sported ; 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn. 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide the flood 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, "Sweet lass. 
Sweet as yon hawthorn blossom, 

! happy, happy may he be. 
That's dearest to thj' bosom ! 



' A soldier, passing by the window of 
an inn, suggested these touching lines. 
The Poet called him in, and asked him 
to relate his adventures. 



My purse is light, I've far to iang. 
And fain wad be thy lodger ; 

I've serv'd my King and Country 
lang— 
Take pity on a sodger ! " 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever : 
Quo' she, "A sodger ance I lo'ed. 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it. 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't." 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose- 
Syne ' pale like onie lily ; 

She sank within my arms and cried, 
"Art thou my ain dear Willie?* 

" By Him who made yon sun and sky. 
By whom true love's regarded, 

I am the man ; and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded ! 

"The wars are o'er, and I'm come 
hame 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love. 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted." 
Quo' she, " My grandsire left me gowd, 

A-mailen- plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! " 

For gold the merchant ploughs the 
main. 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's prize ; 

'I'he sodger's wealth is honour : 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise. 

Nor count him as a stranger, 
Remember he's his country's stay 

In day and hour o' danger. 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT FuR 
THE DEATH OF HER SON, 

TUNE — " FINLAVSTON HOUSE." 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped. 
And pierc'd my darling's heart ; 



Then. 



' Faim. 



WORKS Orr BURNS. 



And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart ! 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour d laid : 
So fell the I'ride of all my hopes. 

My age's future shade. 

The mothei -linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ra\ ish'd young ; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake. 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death, oft I've feard thy fatal blow, 

Now, fond, I liare my breast ; 
O do thou kindly lay me low 

«Vit}^. him I love, at rest ! 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.' 

TUNE— "the weaver and HIS 
SHUTTLE, O." 

My Father was a Farmer, upon the 

Carrick border, O, 
And carefully he bred me in decency 

and order, O ; 
He bade me act a manly part, though 

I had ne'er a farthing, O — 
For without an honest manly heart, no 

man was worth regarding, O. 

Tnen out into the world my course I 

did determine, O ; 
Tlio' to be rich was not my wish, yet 

to be great was charming, O : 
My talents they were not the worst ; 

nor yet my education, O ; 
Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend 

my situation, O. 

In many a wa\', and vain essay, I 
courted Fortune's favour, O ; 

Some :ause unseen still stept betw'een, 
tc frustrate each endeavour, O : 



* The following song is a wild rhap- 
sody, miserablydeficicnt in versification; 
but as the sentiments ar? the genuine 
feelings of m\- heirt, for that reason I 
have a particular pleasure in conning 
it over. — R. B. Mr. Cunningham 
lound tiaces of the Poet's early historj' 
A tiie^c lines. 



Sometimes by foes 1 was o'crpow ti'd ; 

sometimes by frii nds forsaken, O • 
And when my hope was at the top, I 

still was worst mistaken, O. 
Then, sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, 

with Fortune's vain delusion, O ; 
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, 

and came to this conclusion, O : 
The past was bad, and the future nid ; 

its good or ill untried, O ; 
But the present hour was in my pow'r, 

and so I would enjoy it, O. 
No help, nor hope, nor view had 1 ; 

nor person to befriend me, O ; 
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and 

labour to sustain me, O. 
To plough and sow, to reap and n-ow, 

my fatlier bred me early, O ; 
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a 

match for F'ortune fairly, O. 
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, 

thro' life Im doom'd to wander, O ; 
Till down my weary bones 1 lay in 

everlasting slumber, O ; 
No view nor care, but shim whate'er 

might breed me pain or sorrow, O; 
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless 

of to-morrow, O. 
But cheerful still, I am as well as * 

monarch in a palace, O ; 
Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts int 

down, with all her wonted malice,0- 
I make indeed my daily bread, bul 

ne'er can make it further, O ; 
Bul, as daily bread is all I need, I do 

not much regard her, O. 
When sometinics hy my labour, I earn 

a little money, O, 
Some unforeseen iiiisfortunecomes gen'- 

rally upon me, C) ; 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, oi 

my good-natur'd folly, O ; 
But come what will, I've sworn it, still, 

I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. 
All you who follow wealth aird power, 

with unremitting ardour, O, 
The more in this y<ju look for bliss, you 

leave your view the fartl er, O : 
Had you the w ealth Potosi boasts, oi 

nations to adore you, O 
A cheerful honest-hearted ^ ••Tl T will 

prefer before you, O. 



SONGS. 



BONNIE LESLEY.' 

TVTNE— "-THE collier's BONNIE 
DOCHTEK." 

ij SAW ye bonnie Lesley, 

As she gae"d o'er the border? 
Slie's gano, hke Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 
To see her is to love her. 

And love but her for ever ; 
1 )r Nature made her what she is. 

And ne'er made sic anither ! 
Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects we, before thee : 
Thou art divine, Fair Lesley, 

Ihe hearts o' men adore thee. 
The Deil he could na scaith thee, 

Or au.c'ht that wad belang thee ; 
He'd look into thy bonnie face, 

And say, " I canna wrang thee." 
The Powers aboon will tent thee : 

Misfortune sha'na steer ^ thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves, sae lovely. 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee; 
Return again, Fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 



AMANG THE TREES. 

TUNE—" THE KING OF FRANCE, HE 
HAD A RACE." 

Amang the trees, where humming bees 
At buds and flowers were hinging, O, 
Auld C.aledon drew out her drone. 
And to her pipe was singing, O : 
rw9s Pibroch,^ Sang, Strathspey, or 
Reels, 
Sh-« dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O, 



' Miss Lesley Baillie. The ballad 
waa composed by Hums after spending 
a-d jy with the lady's ^amily, then on 
thei<' way to England. 

f Kurt. 

' \ Highhnd v^r-song adapted to 
ch» bagpipe. 



When there c»»'*x a yell o' fJlcig^ 

squeels. 

That dang her tapsalteerie, O. — 
Their cap:^'i craws and queer ha, ha's, 

They made our lugs grow eerie, O ; 
The hungry bike did scrape and pike 

Till we were woe and weary, O : 
But a royal ghaist wha a nee was ra« A 

A prisoner aughteen year awa. 
He fir'd a fiddler in tlie north 

That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 



WHEN FIRST I CAME TO 
STEWART KYLE. 

TUNE — " I HAD A HORSE AND I HAD 
KAK MAIR." 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was na steady, 
Where'er I gaed, where'er 1 rade, 

A mistress still I had aye : 
But when I came roun' by Mauchlino 
town. 

Not drcadin' onie body, 
My heart was caught before T thought 

And by a Mauchline lady. 



ON SENSIBILri'V. 

TO MY DEAR AND MUCH-HONOURED 
FRIEND, MRS. DUNLOI', OF DUNLOP. 

AIR — " SENSIBILITY." 

Sensibility, how charming, 

'J'hou, my friend, canst truly tell ; 
But distress, with horrors arming, 

I'liou hast also known too well. 
Fairest flower, behold the lily. 

Blooming in the siuiny ray : 
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 

See it prostrate on the clay. 
Hear the wood-lark charm the foreU 

Telling o'er his little joys; 
Hapless bird ! a prey the stjjest 

To each pirate of rhe skies. 



2.4 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Dearly bought, the hidden treasure 

Finet feelings, can bestow ; 
Chords, that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



MONT(jOMERIE'S peggy.^ 

TUNE — " GALLA WATER." 

A .: ho' my bed were in yon muir, 
Aniang the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yit happy, happy would I be. 

Had I my dear Alontgomerie's Peggy. 

\Vhen o'er the hill beat surly storms, 
And winter nights were dark and 
rainy ; 
I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Rlontgomeric's 
Peggy. 

Were I a Baron proud and high. 

And horse and servants waiting 
ready, 
Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me. 

The sharin't wi' Montgomerie's 
PegJD'- 



ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. 

C) V a bank of flowers, in a : ummer day. 

For summer lightly drest, 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay. 

With love and sleep opprest ; 

When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood. 
Who for her favour oft had sued. 

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd, 
And trembled where he stood. 



\ My Montgomerie's Peggy was my 
deity for six or eight months. I have 
tried to imitate, in this extempore thing, 
that irregularity in the rhyme which, 
when judiciously done, has such a fine 
ertect on the ear. — R. B. 



Her closed eyes, like weapon i sheath'd, 

Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant oreath'd. 

It richer dy'd the rose. 
The springing lilies sweetly prest. 

Wild, wanton kissjd her rival breast ; 
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd. 

His bosom ill at rest. 
Her robes, light waving in the breeze. 

Her tender limbs embrace ! 
Her lovely form, her native ease. 

All harmony and grace ! " 
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 

A faltering ardent kiss he stole ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd. 

And sigh'd his verj' soul. 
As flies the partridge from the brake. 

On fear-inspired wings ; 
So Nelly, stactinff, half awake. 

Away affrighted sprirgs : 
But Willie follow'd— as 'ze should, 

He overtook her in the wood : 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 

Forgiving all, and good. 



O RAGING FORTUNE'S 
WITHERING BLAST. 

O RAGING Fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
O raging Fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
My stem was fair, my bud was green. 

My b'.ossom sweet did blow, O ! 
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild. 

And made my branches grow, O. 
But luckless Fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O ! 
But luckless Fortune's northern stormi 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O ! 



EVAN :,ANKS. 

TUNE — " SAfC. RNA DELISH." 

Slow spreads the gloom my soul i'. 

sires, 
The sun from India's shore retires 



WNGS. 



To Evan Ranks with temp' rate ray 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 

Oh ! Banks to me for ever dear ! 
Oh • stream,v/hosemurmursstilI Ihear ! 
Ah, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

And she, in simple beauty drest, 
Whose image lives within thy breast ; 
Who trembling heard my parting sigh. 
And long pursued me with her eye : 

Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine, 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 
Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide. 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ? 

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound, 
Ye lavish woods that wave around. 
And o'er the stream your shadows 

throw, 
Wliich sweetly winds so far below ; 

What secret charm to mem'ry brings, 
All that on Evan's border springs ! 
Sweet Jjanks ! ye bloom by Mary's 

side : 
Blest stream ! she views thee haste to 

Clyde. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Alone for years in absence lost ! 
Return, ye moments of delight, 
With richer treasures bless my sight ! 

Swift from this desert let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred heart ! 
Nor more may aught my steps divide 
From that dear stream which fl(_)ws to 
Clyde ! 



WOMEN'S MINDS. 

TUNE — "for a' that.' 

I ho' women's minds, like winter winds, 
May shift and turn, and a' that, 

I he noblest breast adores them maist, 
A consequence 1 draw that. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as meikle's a' that. 

The bonnie lass that I lo'e best 
She'll be my ain for a' that. 



But there Is ane aloon the lave, 
Has wit, and sense, and a' that ; 

A bonnie lass, I like her beit. 
And wha a crime dare ca' that ? 
For a' that, &c. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN.' 

TUNE— "miss FORBES' FAREWELL TO 
BANFF." 

Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ra™, 

That lov'st to greet the early moru. 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary 1 dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
his breast? 

That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove. 
Where by the winding Ayr we met. 

To live one day of parting love ? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 

A\ r gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 
O'erhung with wild woods, thick'n 
ing green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoa? , 
Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'j 
scene. 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 
The birds sang love on ev'ry spray,^ 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mer.i'ry 

wakes. 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 

Time but th' impression deeper makes. 

As streams their channels deepei 

wear. 



' The Mary Campbell already men- 
tioned. The stanzas were composjci 
while Burns lay on some sheaves in t le 
harvest-field, with his eyes fixet" on a 
star of exceeding brightness. 



zi6 



WORKS OF BURXS. 



My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy blissful place of rest? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid '? 

Hearst thou the gioans that rend 
his breast ? 



TO MARY. 



Coui.D aught of song declare my pains, 

Could artful numbers move thee, 
1 he Muse should tell, in labour'd 
strains, 

O Mary how I love thee ! 
1 hey who out feign a wounded heart 

May teach the lyre to languish ; 
Pi at what avails the pride of art, 

When wastes the soul with anguish? 
Then let the sudden bursting sigh 

The heart-felt pang discover ; 
And in the keen, j'et tender eye, 

O read the imploring lover. 
For well I know thy gentle mind 

Disdains art's gay disguising; 
Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd, 

The voice of nature prizing. 



O LEAVE NOVELS. 

O i,EAVE novels, ye Mauchlme belles, 

Ye're safer at your spinning-wheel ; 
Such witching books are baited hooks 

For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. 
Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 

They make your youthful fancies 
reel, 
'ITiey heat your brains, and fire your 
veins, 

And then you're prey for Rob Moss- 
giel. 
Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung .; 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart l)iit acts a part, — 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 

The frank address, the soft caress. 
Are wors2 than poison'd darts of 
steel ; 

I'he frank address, and politesse, 
Are all finesse in Rol Mossgiel. 



ADDRESS 
TO GENERAL DUMOURI£P. 

A PARODY ON RCBIN ADAIR.* 

You're welcome to despots,DumouriCT 
You're welcome to dcspois, Dumouner 

How does Dampierc do? 

Aye, and Bournonviile too? 
Why did they not come along with yo i, 

Dumourier ? 
I will fight France %\'ith you, Dumourier; 
I willfighi France with you, Dumourier; 

I will fight France with you ; 

I will take my chance with you ; 
By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, 
Dumourier. 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 

Then let us figh^ about, Dumourier; 
Then let us fi^ht about. 
Till freedom's spark is out, 

Then we'll be d — d, no doubt, Dii« 
mourier. 



SWEETEST MAY. 

Sweetest May, let love inspire the* , 
Take a heart which he designs thee ; 
As thy constant slave regard it ; 
For its faith and truth reward it. 
Proof o' shot to birth or money, 
Not the wealthy, but the bonnie ; 
Not high-born, but noble-minded, 
In love s silken band can bind it ! 



ONE NIGHT AS I DID 
WANDER. 

TUNE — "JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.'' 

OxE night as I did wander, 
When corn begins to shoot. 

I sat me down to ponder. 
Upon an auld tree-root : 



* "Robin Adair" begins, "Yc-u'r* 
welcome to Paxton, Robin Adair." 



SONGS. 



Arild Ayre ran by before me, 
And bicker'd to the seas ; 

A cushat crowded o'er me, 
^hat echoed thro' the braes. 



THE WINTER IT IS PAST.* 

A FRAGMENT. 

The winter it is past, and the simmer's 
come at last. 
And the little birds sing on every 
tree ; 
Now everything is glad, while I am 
very sad. 
Since my true love is parted from me. 
The rose upon the brier, by the waters 
running clear. 
May have charms for the linnet or 
the Dee ; 
Their little loves are blest, and their 
little hearts at rest. 
But my true love is parted from me. 



FRAGMENT. 

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown h !r neck and bosom hing ; 
How sweet unto that breast to cling. 

And round that neck entwine her 1 
Her lips are roses wet wi' dew ! 
(), what a feast her bonnie mou ! 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 

A crimson still diviner ! 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.^* 

TUNE — " CAPTAIN o'kEAN." 

The small birds rejoice in the green 
leaves returning. 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear 
thro' the vale ; 

^ Gilbert Bums denied his brother's 
iu.horship of this fragment, which, in 
es'lv boyhood, he had heard their 
tt. X> "^r sing. 

' . JiC&e admirable stanzas are sup- 



The hawthorn trees blow in the dews 
cf the morning, 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck 
the green dale : 

But what can give pleasure, or what 

can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are 

number'd by care ? 
No flowers gaily springing, nor birds 

sweetly singing. 
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless 

despair. 

The deed that I dar'd could it merit 
their malice, 
A King, or a Father, to place on his 
throne ? 
His right are these hills, and his right 
are these valleys, 
WTiere the wild beasts find shelter, 
but I can find none. 
But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, 
forlorn ; 
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your 
ruin I mourn : 
Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody 
trial, 
Alas ! can I make you no sweeter 
retium? 



THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. 

TUNE — " BONNIE DUNDEE." 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper 
young Belles, 
The pride of the place and its neigh- 
bourhood a', 
Their carriage and dress, a stranger 
would guess, 
In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten 
it a' : 
Miss Miller is fine. Miss Markland's 
divine, 
Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss 
Betty is braw : 

posed to be spoken by the young Prince 
Charles Edward, when wandering in 
the Highlands of Scotland, after h'l 
fatal defeat at Culloden. — Thmtson. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



There's beauty and fortune to get wi' 
Miss Morton, 
But Armour's the jewel for me o' 
them a'. 



YE HAE LIEN A' WRANG, 
LASSIE. 

CHORUS. 

Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 

Ye've lien a' wrang, 
Ye've lien in an unco ' bed, 

And wi' a fremit^ man. 

Your rosy cheeks are tum'd sae wan, 
Ye're greener than the grass, lassie ; 

Your coatie's shorter by a span, _ 
Yet ne'er an inch the less, lassie. 

O lassie, ye hae play'd the fool. 
And ye will feel the scorn, lassie ; 

For aye the brose ye sup at e'en. 
Ye bock 3 them ere the morn, lassie. 

Oh, ance ye danc'd upon the knowes,^ 
And through the wood ye sang, lassie ; 

But in the berrying o' a bee byke,S 
I fear ye've gat a stang, lassie. 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM 
THAT'S AW A. 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 
Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
And wha winna wish guid luck to our 

cause. 
May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
It's guid to be merry and wise, 
It's guid to be honest and true. 
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause. 
And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 
Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
Here's a health to Charlie ^ the chief 

o' the clan, 
Altho' that his baud be sma'. 

' Strange. ' Stranger. 3 Vomit. 
♦ Hills. S Bee-hive. 6 Charles Fox. 



May liberty meet wi' success . 
May prudence protect her frae evil i 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in tU« 

mist, 
And wander their way to the Devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 
Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
Here's health to Tammie,^ the Not- 

land laddie, 
That lives at the lug o' the law ! 
Here's freedom to him that wad lead. 
Here's freedom to him that wad write ! 
There's nane ever fear'd that the truth 

should be heard 
But they wham the truth wad indite. 
Here's a health to them that's awa. 
Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
Here's Chieftain M'Leod,^ a chieftain 

worth gowd, 
Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 



DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

TUNE — " THE TITHER MORN, AS I 
FX>RLORN." 

Yon wand'ring rill, that marks the hill. 
And glances o'er the brae, Sir, 

Slides by a bower where monie a flowei 
Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir. 

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay : 
To love they thought nae crime. Sir ; 

The wild-birds sang, tht? echoes rang. 
While Damon's heart beat time, Sir. 



MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S 
GAIRS UPON'T. 



My lady's gown there's gairs upori't, 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't : 
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet. 
My lord thinks muckle mair upon't. 

' Thomas Erskine. 
' M'Leod, chief of that clan. 



SONGS. 



My lord a-hunting he is gane, 
But hounds or hawks wi' him arenane, 
By Colin's cottage lies his game, 
If Colin's Jenny be at harae. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

My lady's white, my lady's red, 
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude. 
Rut her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass, 
I'hore wons auld Col'n's bonnie lass, 
A lily in the wilderness. 
RIy lady's gown, &c. 

Sae sweetlj' move her genty limbs. 
Like music notes o' lover's hymns : 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue, 
>V'herc laughing love sae wanton swims. 
My ladj-^s gown, &c. 

My Uidy's dink,^ my lady's drest, 
The flower and fancy o' the west ; 
But the lassie that a nian lo'es best, 
O that's the lass to make him blest 
My lady's gown, &c. 



O AVE MY WIFE SHE DANG 
ME. 



O aye my wife she dang me, 
An' aft iny wife she bang"d me ; 
If ye gip a woman a' her will, 
Guid faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye. 

On peace and rest my mind was bent. 
And fool I was I marry'd ; 

But never honest man's intent 
As cursedly miscarry'd. 

Some sairie » comfort still at last. 
When a' their- days are done, man, 

My pains o hell on earth is past, 
I'm sure o bliss aboon, man, 
O aye my wife, &c. 



Neat. 



Sorrowful. 



THE BANKS OF NITH. 

A BALLAD. 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsoiae 
plains. 

Where late wi' careless though/ I 
rang'd. 
Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe.- 

To thee I bring a heart unchang'a. 
I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 

Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear ; 
For there he rov'd that brake my heart, 

Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear < 



BONNIE PEG. 

As I came in by our gate end. 

As day was waxin' weary, 
O wha came tripping down the street. 

But bonnie Peg, my dearie ! 
Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 

Wi' nae proportion wanting. 
The Queen of Love did never move 

Wi' motion mair enchanting. 
Wi' linked hands, we took the sands 

A-down yon winding river ; 
And, oh ! that hour and broomy bower, 

Can I forget it ever ? 



O LAY THY LOOF IN MINE. 
LASS. 



O lay thy loof ^ in mine, lass. 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 

And swear in thy white hand, lass. 
That thou wilt be my ain. 

A SLAVE to Love's unbounded sway, 
He aft has wrought me meikle wae ; 
But now he is my deadly fae. 
Unless thou be my ain. 
O lay thy loof, &c. 

There's monie a lass has broke my rest, 
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best ; 



Palm of the k%nd. 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



But thou art Queen within my breast. 
For ever to remaui. 
O lay thy loof, &c. 



O GUID ALE COMES. 



O guid ale comes, and giiid ale goes, 
Guid ale gars me sell my hose — 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

I HAD sax owsen in \ pleugh, 
They Jrew a' weel eiieugh, 
I sell'd them a' just ane by ane ; 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

Guid ale bauds me bare and busy. 
Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, 
Stand i' the stool when I hae done, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
O gnid ale comes, &c. 



O WHY THE DEUCE. 

EXTEMPORE. APRIL, I782. 

WHY the deuce should I repine, 
And be an ill foreboder ? 

I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

1 gat some gear wi' meikle care, 
I held it weel thegither ; 

But now it's gane and somethmg m<iir, 
I'll go and be a sodger. 



POLLY STEWART. 



'YE RE WELCOME, CHARLIE 
STEWART." 



O lovely Polly Stewart, 
O charming Polly Stewart, 

There's ne'er a flower that blooms in 
May, 
That's half si fair as thou art. 



The flower it blaws, it fades, it f&'r 
And art can ne'er renew it ; 

But worth and truth eternal youth 
Will gie to Polly Stewart. 

May he, whase arms shall fau'd tin 
charms. 
Possess a leal and true he;iit ; 
To him be given to ken the h tv<- \ 
He grasps in Polly Stewart ! 
O lovely, &c. 



ROBIN SHURE IN HAIK-ST 

CHORUS. 

Robin shure in hairst, 

I shure wi' him, 
Fient a heuk had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 

I GAED up to Dunse, 

To warp a wa"b o' plaidcn. 
At his daddie's yett, 

Wha met me but Robin. 
Was na Robin bauld, 

Tho' I was a cotter, 
Play'd me sic a trick, 

And me the eller's dochtcr ? 
Robin shure, &c. 

Robin promis'd me 

A' my winter vittle ; 
Fient haet he had but three 

Goose feathers and a whittle. 
Robin shure, &c. 



THE FIVE CARLINS.'— AN 
ELECTION BALLAD. 

TUNE — " CHEVY '^HASE." 

There were hve Carlins in the soutn, 

They fell upon a scheme. 
To send a lad to Lun'on town 

T'o bring us tidings hame. 

^ The five boroughs of Dumfriessfiir* 
and Kirkcudbri^t. 



SONGS. 



N >t only bring -jj tidings hame, 

But do our errands there, 
And aiblins gowd and honour baith 

Might be that laddie's share. 

There was IMaggie^ by the banks o' 
Nith, 
A dame \vi' pride enough ; 
And Marjoric" o" the monie Lochs^ 

A Carhn auld an' teugh. 
And blinkin Bess 3 o' Annandai ^, 

That dwx^lls near Solvvay side. 
And whisky Jean ^ that took her gill 

In Galloway so wide. 
And auld black Joan S fra Creighton 
peel, 

O' gipsy kith an' kin, 
Five weightier Carlins were na found 

The south countne within. 
To send a lad to Lon'on town ^ 

They met upon a day, 
Aiid monie a knight, and monie a Laird, 

That errand fain would gae. 
O ! monie a Knight, and monie a Laird, 

This errand fain would gae ; 
But nae ane could their fancy please, 

O ! ne'er a ane but twae. 
The first ane was a belted Knight,^ 

Bred o' a border clan ; 
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town. 

Might nae man him withstan' ; 
And he wad doe their errands weel, 

And meikle he wad say, 
And ilka ane at Lon'on court 

Wad bid to him guid day. 
Then neist came in a sodger youth, ^ 

And spak wi' modest grace. 
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town, 

If sae their pleasure was. 
He wad nae hecht^ them courtly gift, 

Nor meikle speech ijretentl ; 
But he wad hechl an honot heart 

Wad ne'er desert his friend. 



' Dumfries. ^ Lochmaben. 

3 Annan. 4 Kirkcudbright. 

5 .Sanquhar. 

6 The five boroughs returned or.e 
member. 

7 Sir James Johnstone 

8 Captain Miller. 9 Offer. 



Now, whom to choose, and whom i&- 
fuse, 

To strife thae Carlins fell ; 
For some had gentle folk to please. 

And some wad please themsel. 

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nitli, 

An' she spak out wi' pride, 
An' she wad send the sodger youth 

Whatever might betide. 

For the auld guidman o' Lon'on coutt 

She dinna care a pin. 
But she wad send the sodger youth 

To greet his eldest son. 

Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale : • 

A deadly aith she's ta'en, 
That she wad vote the border Knight, 

Tho' she should vote her lane. 

For far-aflf fowls hae feathers fair. 
An' fools o' change are fain : 

But I hae tried this border Knight, 
An' I'll trie him yet again. 

Says auld black Joan frae Creighton 
peel, 

A Carlin stout and grim, 
The auld guidman, or young guidman. 

For me may sink or swim ! 

For fools may prate o' right and wrang, 
While knaves laugh them to scorn : 

But the sodger's friends hae blawn the 
best, 
Sae he shall bear the horn. 

Then whiskey Jean spak owre her drink, 

"Ye weel ken, kimmers a'. 
The auld guidman o' Lon'on court. 

His back's been at the wa'. 

An' monie a friend that kiss'd his caup, 

Is now a fremit wight ; 
But it's ne'er sae wi' whiskey Jean, — 

We'll send the border Knight." 

Then slow raise Marjorie o' the Lochs, 
And wrinkled was her brow ; 

Her ancient weed was russet gray, 
Her auld Scots hea.t was true. 

"There's some great folks set light b» 
me, 

I set as light by them ; 
But I will send to Lon'on town. 

Wha I lo'e best at haine." 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



So how this nzighty plea wiil end, 
Nae mortal wight can tell ; 

God grant tlie King, and ilka man, 
Ma) look vveel to himsel' 1 * 



THE DEUKS DANG O'ER MY 
DADDIE. 

The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, 

The deuks dang o'er my daddie, O ! 
The fient ma care, quo' the feirie auld 
wife. 

He was but a paidlin body, O ! 
He paidles out, and he paidles in, 

An' he paidles late and early, O ; 
Thae seven lang years I hae lien by 
his side, 

An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O. 

<,) haud your tongue, my feirie auld 
wife, 

O hxud your tongue now, Nansie, O : 
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, 

Ye wadna been sae donsie, d : 
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, 

And cuddl'd me late and earlie, O ; 
But downa do's come o'er me now. 

And, oh, I feel it sairly, O ! 



THE LASS THAT MADE THE 
BED TO ME. 

When Januar' wind was blawing cauld. 
As to the north I took my way. 

The mirksome night did me enfauld, 
I knew na where to lodge till day. 

By my good luck a maid I met. 
Just in the middle o' my care ; 

And kindly she dJd me invite 
To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. 
And thank'd her for her courtesie ; 

] bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And bade her mak a bed to me. 

She n\ade the bed baith large and wide, 
Wi' twa white hands she spread it 
down ; 

Miller was elected. 



She put the cup to her rosj lips. 
And drank, " Young man, now sleefi 
ye soun." 

She snatch'd the candle in her hand, 

And frae my chamber went wi' speed; C' 

But I call'd her quickly back again 
To lay some mair below my head. 

A cod ' she laid below my head. 
And served me wi' due respect ; 

And to salute her wi' a kiss, 
I put my arms about her neck. 

" Haud aff your hands, young man," 
she says, 
" And dinna sae uncivil be ; 
If ye hae onie love for me, 

wrang na my virginite ! " 

Her hair was like the links o' gowd. 

Her teeth were like the ivorie ; 
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine, 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

Her bosom was the driven snaw, 
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see ; 

Her limbs the polish'd marble stane. 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

I kissed her owre and owre again. 
And aye she wist na what to say ; 

I laid her 'ween me and the wa'. 
The lassie thought na lang till day. 

Upon the morrow when we rose, 

1 thank'd her for her courtesie ; 
But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd, 

And said, "Alas ! ye've ruin'd me." 

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne. 
While the tear stood twinklin in hef 
e'e ; 

I said, " My lassie, dinna cry, 

For ye aye shall mak the bed to me.'' 

She took her mither's Holland sheets. 
And made them a' in sarks to me : 

Blythe and merry may she be, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

The bonnie lass made the bed to me. 
The braw lass made the bed to me* 

I'll ne'er forget till the day I die. 
The lass that made the bed to me ' 



SONGS. 



2*3 



THE UNR»N. 

»TNa — 'SIXH A PARCEL CF KOGIES 
IN A NATION." 

Fakeukel to a' Scottish fame, 

Farewecl (jur ancient glory ! 
Fareweel even to the Scottish name, 

Sae fain'd in martial story ! 
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands. 

And 'I'weed rins t^' the ocean, 
I'o mark where England's province 
stands ; 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

What guile or force could not subdue, 

Through many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few. 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain. 

Secure in valour's station, 
But English gold has been our bane ; — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

O would, or had I seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us. 
My auld grey head had lien in clay, 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last hour 

ril mak this declaration. 
We're bought and sold for English 
gold :— 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 



THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

There was a bonnie lass, andabonnie, 
bonnie lass. 
And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie, 
dear; 
Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie 
frae her arms, 
Wi' molvie a sigh and tear. 

Dver sea, over shore, where the cannons 
loudly roar, 
He still was a stranger to fear : 
•Xnd nocht could him quell, or his 
bosom assail, 
But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



MY HARRV WAS A GALLANT 
GAY. 



TUNE — HIGHLANDER S LAMENT. 

My Harry was a gallant gay, 

Fu' stately strode he on the plain ! 

But now he's banish'd far away, 
I'll never see him back again. 



O for him back again, 
O for him back again, 
I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land, 
For Highland Harry back again. 

When a' the lave gae to their bed, 
I wander dowie up the glen ; 

I sit me down and greet my fill. 
And aye I wish him back again. 
O for him, &c. 

O were some villains hangit high. 
And ilka body had their ain, 

Then I might see the joyfu' sight, 
My Highland Harry back again ! 
O for him, &.c. 



THE HERMIT.* 

Whoe'er thou art, these lines no\ii 

reading, 
Think not, though from the world re- 
ceding, 
I joy my lonely days to read in 

This desert drear, — 
I'hat fell remorse, a conscience bleed* 
ing, 
Hath led me here. 

No thought of guilt my bosom sours — 
Free-will'd I fled from courtly bow'rs ; 
For well I saw in halls and tow'rs. 

That lust and pride. 
The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest pow'rs. 

In state preside. 



' Written on a marble sideboard, ii. 
the Hermitage belonging to the Duke 
of Athole, in the wood of Abfrfeldy. 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



I saw mankind with vice encrusted ; 
I saw that honour's s'word was rusted ; 
That few for aught but folly lusted ; 
That he was still deceiv'd, who trusted 

To love, or friend ; — 
And hither came, with men disgusted, 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, in garments lowly, 

Alike a foe to noisy folly. 

And brow-brent gloomy melancholy, 

I wear away 
My life, and in my office holy 

Consume the day. 

This rock my shield, when storms are 

blowing, 
The limpid streamler yonder flowing, 
Supplying drink, thi earth bestowing 

]\Iy simple food ; 
But few enjoy the cal.u I know in 

This desert wood. 

Content and comfort bless me more in 
This grot, than e'er I felt before in 
A palace, — and with thoughts still soar- 
ing 
To God on high, 
Each night and morn with voice im- 
ploring, 
This wish I sigh : — 

Let me, O Lord, from life retire, 
Unknown each guilty, worldly fire, 
Remorse's throb, or loose desire ; — 

And when I die, 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God I fly ! 

Stranger ! if full of youth and riot, 
And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet, 
Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at 

The Hermit's prayer ; 
Bift if then hast good cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care, — 

If thou hast known false love's vex- 
ation, 
Oi hast been exiled from thy nation. 
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation. 

And makes thee pine — 
Oh ! how must thou liment thy station, 

And envy mine r 



TIBBIE bL^liBAR. 

TUNE — "johnny m'gILL." 

O WILT thou go wi" me, sweet Tibbw 
Dunbar? 

wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbii 

Dunbar ? 
Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn 

in a car, 
Or walk by my side, O sweet Iibbit 

Dunbar? 

1 care na thy daddie, his lands and b a 

money, 
I care na thy kin, sae high and saa 

lordly : 
But say thou wilt hae me for bet'er, 

for waur. 
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie 

Dunbar ? 



WEE WILLIE. 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leathfcf 

wallet ; 
Peel a willow-wand to be him boo^s 

and jacket : 
The rose upon the brier will be hi>a 

trousc and doublet. 
The rose upon the brier will be him 

trouse and doublet ! 
Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 

wallet ; 
Twice a lily flower will be him sark 

and cravat ; 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his 

bonnet. 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up 'A 

bonnet. 



CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 

Beyond thee, dearie, be>ond thee, 

dearie. 

And O to be Ipng beyond thee ; 

O sweetly, soundly, weel may 1 e 

sleep. 

That's laid in the bed beyond tl.ee 



SOUGS. 



SmiKT closes tKe evening on Craigie- 
bum Wood, 
And blithely awakens the morrow ; 
Ect the i;ride of the spring in the 
Craigie-burn Wood 
Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 
Beyond thee, &c. 
I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

1 hear the wild birds singing ; 
But pleasure they hae nane for me. 
While care my heart is wringing. 
Beyond thee, &c. 
I canna tell, I maun na tell, 
I dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart. 
If I conceal it langer. 

Beyond thee, &c. 
I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, 

I see thee sweet and bonnie, 
But oh, what will my torments be. 
If thou refuse my Johnnie ! 
Beyond thee, &c. 
To see thee in anither's arms. 
In love to lie and languish, 
Twad be my dead, that will be seen, 
My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
Beyond thee, &c. 
But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine — 

Say, thou lo'es nane before me ; 
An^a' my days o' life to come, 
I'll gratefully adore thee. 
Beyond thee, &c, 



HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN 
WATER. 

TUNE—" THE JOB OF JOURNEV- 
WORK." 

Altho' my back be at the wa'. 

And tho' he be the fautor ; 
Altho' my back be at the wa', 

Yet, here's his health in water! 
O ! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawlie he could flatter ; 
TjH for his sake I'm slighted sair. 

And dree the kintra clatter. 
But tho' my back be at the wa'. 

And tho' he be the fautor ; 
But tho' my back be at the wa'. 

Yet. here's his health in water ! 



AS DOWN THE BURN THLY 
TOOK THEIR WAY. 

As down the burn they took their wav 
And thro' the flowery dale ; 

His c)>eek to hers he aft did lay. 
And love was aye the tale. 

With " Mary, when shall we return. 

Sic pleasure to renew?" 
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the burn. 

And aye shall follow you." 



LADY ONLIE. 

TUNE—" RUFFIAH's RANT." 

A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank, 

When they gae to the shore o' Bucky , 
They'll step in an' tak' a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale. 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 

Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 

I wat she is a dainty chucky ; 

And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed 

Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 

Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale. 
The best on a' the shore o" BuCky. 



AS I WAS A WANDERING. 

TUNE — "rINN MEUDIAL MO MHEAL- 
LADH." 

As I was a wand'ring ae midsummer 
e'enin'. 
The pipers and youngsters were ma- 
kin' their game ; 
Amang them I spied my faithless fauso 
lo' er, 
Whirk bled a' the wounds o' iT/y 
dolour again. 
Q 



126 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Weel, since he has left me, my pleasure 
gae wi' hiin ; 
J. may be distress'd, but I winna 
complain ; 
\ flatter my fancy I may get anither, 
My heart it shall never be broken 
for ane. 

I could na get sleeping till dawin for 
greetin',' 
The tears trickled down like the hail 
and the rain : 
1 1 3d I na got greetin', my heart wad a 
broken, 
For, oh ! lo%-e forsaken's a torment- 
ing pain. 

Although he has left me for greed o' 
the siller, 
I dinna en%^ him the gains he can 
win ; 
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my 
sorrow 
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to 
him. 

A^eel, since he has left me, may plea- 
sure gae wi' him, 
I may be distress'd, but I winna 
complain ; 
[ flatter my fancy I may get anither, 
My heart it shall never be broken 
for ane. 



BANNOCKS O' BARLEY. 

TUNB— " THE KILLOGIE." 

Bannocks o' bear' meal, 

Bannocks o' barley ; 
Here's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley. 
Wha in a brulzie 

Will first cry a parley ? 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. 

Bannocks o' bear meal. 
Bannocks o' barley ; 

Here's to the lads wi' 
The bannocks o' barley. 



Till dawn for weeping. 



Barley. 



Wha in his waedays 
Were loyal to Charlie T 

Wha' but the lads wi' 
The bannocks o' barley, 



OUR THRISSLES^ FLOU RIS H EU 
FRESH AND FAIR. 

TUNE — "aWA, WHIGS, AWA." 
CHORUS. 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns. 

Ye'U do nae good at a'. 

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair 
And bonnie bloom'd our roses ; 

But Whigs came in like frost in June, 
And wither'd a' our posies. 

Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust— 
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't ; 

And write their names in his black beul:, 
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. 

Our sad decay m Church and State 

Surpasses my descriving ; 
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse, 

And we hae done wi' thriving. 

Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a na|», 
But we may see him wauken ; 

Gude help the day when royal heads 
Are hunted like a maukin. 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor loun.% 

Ye' 11 do nae gude at a'. 



PEG-A-RAMSEY. 

TUNE— "CAULD IS THE E'ENKt 
BLAST." 

Cauld is the e'enin' blast 
O' Boreas o'er the pool. 

And dawin' it is dreary. 

When birks are bare at Yale. 

^ Thistles. 



SONGS. 



237 



O bitter blaws the e'enin' blast 
When bitter bites the frost. 

And in the mirk and drearj- di ift 
The hills and glens are lost. 

Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
That drifted o'er the hill. 

But a bonnie Peg-a- Ramsey- 
Gat grist to her mill. 



COME POAT ME O'ER TO 
CHARLIE.^ 

TUNE — "o'er the water TO 
CHARLIE." 

Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er. 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
J'H gie John Ross another bawbee, 
To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea. 
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather 
and go. 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 
T lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 

Tho' some there be abhor him : 
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame, 

And Charlie's faes before him ! 
I swear and vow by moon and stars. 

And sun that shines so early. 
If I had twenty thousand hves, 
I'd die as aft for Charlie. 
We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea. 
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather 
and go ! 
And live or die wi' Charlie ! 



BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER. 

TUNE— "gALLA water." 
CHORUS. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 
^ p braw lads of Galla Water : 
IT. kilt my coats aboon my knee. 
And follow my love through the 
water. 

* An old song, restored by Burns. 



Sae fair her hair, sae brent ' her brow, 
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie '; 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her inou', 
The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 
O'er yon moss amang the heath ir ; 

I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. 
And follow my love through the water. 

Down amang the broom, the broom, 

Down amang the broom, my dearie. 
The lassie lost a silken snood, 

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.' 
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats a boon my knee, 
And follow my love through the 
water. 



COMING THROUGH THE RYE 



TUNE—" COMING THROUGH THE 
RYE." 

Coming through the rye, poor body, 

Coming through the rye. 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

C»ming through the rye. 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 

Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through the rye ; 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need a body cry ? 
Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through the glen, 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need the world ken ? 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body ; 

Jenny's seldom dry; 
She draiglet a' her pettico^tie, 

Coming through the rye. 



ITfgh and smooth. 

Outburst of grief 

Q a 



»8 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. 

TUNE — " JACKY LATIN." 

Oat ye me, O gat ye me, 

O gat ye me wi' naething ? 
P ock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attoiir,^ my gutcher^ has 

A hich house and a laigh ane, 
A' forbye, my bonnie sel'. 

The toss 3 of Ecclefechan. 

haud your tongue now, Luckie I-aing, 

haud your tongue and jauner ; 4 

1 held the gate till you I met. 
Syne I began to wander : 

I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure ; 

B'lt your green graff, now, Luckie 
Laing, 
Wad airt me to my treasure. 



HAD I THE WYTE. 

TUNE — " HAD I THE WYTE SHE BADE 
ME." 

Had I the wyte,S had I the wyte, 

Had I the wyte she bade me ; _ 
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side, 

And up the loan 6 she shaw'd me ; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
Had kirk and state been in the gate, 

I lighted when she bade me. 

Sae craftilie she took me ben, 

Ajid bade me make nae clatter ; 
" For our ramgunshoch, glum guidman 

Is out and ower the water :" 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace, 

When I did kiss and dawte^ her, 
Let him be planted in my place. 

Syne say I was the fautor. 

Could I for shame, could I for shame. 
Could I for shame refuse her ? 



* Moreover. ' Grandsire. 3 Toast. 

* Talking. 5 Blame. 
6 Milking-place. ' Fondle. 



And wadna manho<^ been to came, 

Had I unkindly used her? 
He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame,* 

And blue and bluidy bruised her ; 
When sic a husband was frae hame. 

What wife but had excused her ? 
I dighted ay her een sae blue. 

And bann'd the cruel randy ; 
And weel I wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
A gloamin-shot it was I trow, 

1 lighted on the Monday ; 
But I came through the Tysday's dew, 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 



HEE BALOU.= 

TUNE — " THE HIGHLAND BAI.OU." 

Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o' the great Clanronald ; 
Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 
Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie,3. 
An' thou live, thou'U steal a naigie : * 
Travel the country thro' and thro', 
And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 
Ihro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, 
Weel, my babie, may thou furder : 5 
Herry^ the louns o' the laigh ccuntree 
Syne' to the Highlands hame to me. 



HER DADDIE FORBAD. 

TUNE — " JUMPIN' JOHN." 

Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad; 

Forbidden she wadna be : 
She wadna trow't^ the browst she 
brew'd 
Wad taste sae bitterlie. 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' Jot 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie ; 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' Jo' 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 

' Instrument for dressing flax. 
^ A child's lullaby. 3 Neck. 

■» Horse. 5 Succeed. ^ Piy-idr 
/ Then. 8 Believe >l. 



SONGS. 



2Jq 



A COW and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf. 

And thretty gude shillins and three ; 

A- vera gnde tocher, a cotter-man's 

dochter, 

The lass with the bonnie black e'e, 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie ; 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 



rfERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY 
BONNIE LASS. 

TUNE— "lAGGAN burn." 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
Gudo night, and joy be wi' thee ; 

I'll come nae m'air to thy bower door. 
To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 

dinna think, my pretty pink. 
But I can live without thee : 

V vow and swear I dinna care 
How lang ye look about ye. 

Thou'rt aye sae free informing. me 
'J'hou hast nae mind to marry ; 

I'll be as free informing thee 
Nae time hae I to tarry. 

1 ken thy friends try ilka means, 
Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 

Depending on some higher chance — 
But fortune may betray thee. 

I ken they scorn my low estate. 

But that does never grieve me ; 
P.ut I'm as free as any he, 

Si la' siller will relieve me. 
I count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae lang as I'll enjoy it : 
I'll foar nae scant, I'll bode nae want. 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far-aff fowls hae feathers fair. 

And aye until ye try them : 
iTio" they seem fair, still have a care, 

I'hey may prove waur than I am. 
iJut at twal at night, when the moon 
shines bright, 

My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel, 

Nae travel makes him weary. 



HEY, THE DUST" r**-'KR. 

TUNE — "the dusty MILI ER." 

Hey, the dusty miller, 

And his dusty coat ; 

He will win a shilling. 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty was the coat. 

Dusty was the colour. 
Dusty was the kiss 
That I got frae the mil1*». 

Hey, the dusty miller, 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Brings the dusty siller; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 



THE CARDIN' O'T.' 

TUNE — "salt fish AND DUMPLING! ." 

I CO FT a stane o' haslock woo', 

To make a wat^ to Johnny o't ; 
For Johnny is my only jo, 
I lo'e him best of ony yet. 
The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't. 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 

For though his locks be lyart gray,3 
And tho' his brow be held aboon ; 

Yet I hae seen him on a day, 
I'he pride of a' the parishen. 



' "The httle of this song to which 
antiquity lays claim, is so trifling that 
the whole may be said to be the 
work of Burns. The tenderness of 
Johnnie's wife can only be fully felt by 
those who know that hause-lock wool 
is the softest and finest of the fleece, 
and is shorn from the throats of sheep 
in the summer heat." — A. Cunning 
ha7n. 

^ An outer garment. 

^ Mingled with gray. 



IVORKS OF BURNS. 



The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 
The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 

\Vhen ilka ell cost me a groat. 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 



THE JOYFUL WIDO-WER. 

TUNE — " MAGGY LAUDER." 

I MARRIED with a scolding wife 

The fourteenth of November ; 
She made me weary of my life, 

By one unruly member. 
Long did I bear the heav'y yoke, 

And many griefs attended ; 
But, to my comfort be it spoke. 

Now, now her life is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years, 

A man and wife together ; 
At length from me her course she steer'd. 

And gone I know not whither : 
"Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter. 
Of all the women in the world, 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her ; 
But sure her soul is not in hell. 

The deil would ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft, 

And imitating thunder ; 
For why, — methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 



THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE 
MARY. 

TUNE — "the ruffian's RANT." 

In coming by the brig ^ o' Dye, 

At Darlet we a blink did tarry ; 
As day was dawin in the sky. 
We drank a health to bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 



Hereen sae bright, her brow sae wliite. 
Her haffet ' locks as brown's a berry 
An' aye they dimpled wi' a smile 
The ros}- cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

We lap an' danced the lee-lang day. 
Till piper lads were wae an' wearjs 
But Charlie gat the spring to pay 
For kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 



THE FAREWELL. 

tune — " IT WAS a' for OUR RIGHTPU' 
KING." 

It was a' for our rightfu' King, 
We left fair Scotland's strand ; 

It was a' for our rightfu' King, 
We e'er saw Irish land, 

My dear, — 
We e'er saw Irish land. 

Now a' is done that men can do. 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love and native land farewell. 

For I maun cross the main, 

My dear, — 

For I maun cross the main. 

He tum'd him right, and round about, 

Upon the Irish shore : 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake, 

With adieu for evermore. 

My dear, — 

With adieu for evermore. 
The sodger from the wars returns. 

The sailor frae the main ; 
But I hae parted frae my love. 

Never to meet again. 

My dear, — 

Never to meet again. 

By the side of the head. 



SONGS. 



a3J 



When day is gane, and niglit is come, 
And a' folk bound to sleep ; 

I think on him that's far awa, 
The lee-lang night, and weep, 
My dear, — 

rhe lee-lang night, and weep. 



n IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE 
FACE. 

Tt NE— " THE maid's COMPLAINT.' ' 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 

Nor shape that I admire, 
Although thy beauty and thy grace 

i\light wee! awake desire. 
Something, in ilka part o' thee. 

To praise, to love, 1 find ; 
But dear as is thy form to me. 

Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae. 

Nor stronger in my breast. 
Than if 1 canna mak thee sae. 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee : 
And as wi' thee I'd wish to live. 

For thee I'd bear to die. 



JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 

TUNE — " JAMIE, COME TRY ME.' 
CHORUS. 

Jamie, come try me ; 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should ask my love. 

Could I deny thee ? 
If thou would win my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should kiss me, love, 

Wha could espy thee ? 
If thou wad be my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 



Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my love. 
Jamie, conic try me. 



LANDLADY, COUNT THE 
LAWIN. 

TUNE — " HEY TUTTI, TAITI." 

Landlady, count the lawin,^ 
The day is near the dawin ; 
Ye're a' blind drunk, boys. 
And I'm but jolly fou. 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now ? 

Cog an' ye were aye fou. 
Cog an' ye were aye fou, 
I wad sit and sing to you. 
If ye were aye fou. 

Weel may ye a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
God bless the King, boys,. 
And the companie ! 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now ? 



MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A 
LASSIE YET.2 

TUNE — " LADY BADINGSCOTH'S 
KEEL," 

My love she's but a lassie yet ; 

My love she's but a lassie yet ; 
We'll let her stand a year or twa. 

She'll no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, O ; 

I rue the day I sought her, O ; 
Wha gets her needs na say she's woo'd. 

But he may say he's bought her, O I 



' Reckoning. 

' This song and the following oai 
were only partly written by Burns. 



232 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet , 

Come, drawa dnip o' the best o't yet ; 
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, 

But here I never miss'd it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 

An' could na preach for thinkin' o't. 



MY HEART WAS ANCE. 

TUNE — "to the weavers GIN 
YE GO." 

R.Y heart was ance as blythe and free 

As simmer days were lang, 
r>ut a bonnie, westlin weaver lad 
Has gart ' me change my sang. 
To the weavers gin ye go, fair 
maids, 
To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right, gang ne'er at night. 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

My mither sent me to the town. 

To warp a plaiden wab ; 
But the weary, weary warpin o't 

Has gart me sigh and sab. 

A bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Sat working at his loom ; 
He took my heart as wi' a net. 

In every knot and thrum.^ 

I sat beside my warpin wheel, 

And aye I ca'd it roun' ; 
But ever shot and every knock. 

My heart it gae a stoun. 

The moon was sinking in the west, 

Wi' visage pale and wan. 
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Convoy'd me thro' the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done, 

Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
But, oh ! I fear the kintra soon 

Will ken as weels mysel. 




To the weavers gin ye go, fan 
maids, 
To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede ' you right, gang ne'ei al 
night. 
To the weavers gin ye go. 



LOVELY DAVIES." 



O HOW shall I, unskilfu', try 

The poet's occupation. 
The tunefu' powers, in happy hours. 

That whisper inspiration ? 
Even they maun dare an effort mair 

Than aught they ever gave us. 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse. 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 
Each eye it cheers, when she appears, 

Like Phoebus in the morning. 
When past the shower, and ev'ry flowei 

The garden is adorning. 
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore. 

When winter-bound the wave is ; 
Sae drops our heart when we maun part 

Frae charming, lovely Davies. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift. 

That maks us mair than princes ; 
A sorptr'd hand, a King's command. 

Is in her dartmg glances : 
The man in arms, 'gainst female charms. 

Even he her willing slave is ; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 

Of conquering, lovely Davies. 
My muse to dream of such a theme. 

Her feeble powers surrenders ; 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendours : 



* Advise. 

^ Deborah Davies, the youngest 
daughter of Dr. Davies, of Tenby, 
South Wales. She was the victim of 
an unrequited attachment for an officer 
who died abroad. In a letter to thij 
lady, Burns calls woman " the blood- 
royal of life." 



SONGS. 



»33 



1 



I wad in vain "ssay the strain. 
The deed too daring brave is ; 

ril drap the lyre, and mute admire 
The charms o' lovely Davies. 



KENMURES ON AND AWA. 

TUNE — "O, KENMURE's ON AND AWA, 
WILLIE." 

O, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie ! 

O, Kenmure's on and awa ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
Tliere's no a heart that fears a Whig, 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, 
Willie ! 
Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's 
blude, 
Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

O, Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal 
true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame. 

Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! 

Here's him that's far awa ; 
And here's the flower that I lo'e best — 

The rose that's like the snaw. 



THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 

TUNK— "O MOUNT AND GO." 
CHORUS. 
O, mount and go 
Moiuit and make you ready ; 

O, mount and go. 
And 'k the Captain's Lady. 



When the drums do beat. 
And the cannons rattle, 

Thou shalt sit in state. 

And see thy love in battle. 

When the vanquish'd foe 

Sues for peace and quiet, 
To the shades we'll go, 
And in love enjoy it. 
O, mount and go. 
Mount and make you ready ; 

O, mount and go, 
And be the Captain's Lady. 



LADY MARY-ANN. 

TUNE — "cRAIGTOWN's GROWING* 

O, Lady Mary-Ann 

Looks o'er the castle wa'. 
She saw three bonnie boys 

Playing at the ba' ; 
The youngest he was 

The flower amang them a' ; 
My bonnie laddie's young. 

But he's growing yet. 

O father ! O father ! 

An' ye think it fit. 
We'll send him a year 

To the college yet : 
We'll sew a green ribbon 

Round about his hat. 
And that will let them kea 

He's to marry yet. 

Lady Mary- Ann 

Was a flower i' the dew. 
Sweet was its smell, 

And bonnie was its hue ! 
And the laiiger it blossom'd 

The sweeter it grew ; 
For the lily in the bud 

Will be bonnier yet. 

Young Charlie Cochran 

Was the sprout of an aik ; 
Bonnie and bloomin' 

And straught was its makt ! 
The sun took delight 

To shine for its sake. 
And it will be the brag 

O' the forest yet. 



IVOKKi^ OF DJRNlf. 



The simmer is gane 

When the leaves they were green, 
And the days are awa 

That we hae seen ; 
But far better days 

1 trust will come again, 
For my bonnie laddie's young. 

But he's growin' yet. 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOWS 
LAMENT.^ 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Without a penny in my purse. 

To buy a meal to me. 

It was na sae in the Highland hills, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

Sae happy was as me. 

For then I had a score o' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Feeding on yon hills so high. 

And giving milk to me. 

And there I had threescore o' yowes, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Skipping on yon bonnie knovves, 

And casting woo' to me. 

I was the happiest of a' the clan, 

Sair, sair maj-^ I repine ; 
For Donald was the brawest lad. 

And Donald he was mine. 

Till Charlie Stewart cam' at last, 

Sae far to set us free ; 
My Donald's arm was wanted then. 

For Scotland and for me. 

1 "heir waefu' fate what need I tell ? — 
Right to the wrang did yield : 

My Donald and his country fell 
Upon CuUoden's field. 

* I do not know on what authority 
Mr. Cunningham assigns this Jacobite 
Bong to Burns ; for I have heard old 
ladies sing it who remember its exist- 
ence anterior to the poet's time. — 
Motherwell. 



Oh ! I am come to th • low coimtne, 

Och-on, och-on, och-i .'e ! 
Nae woman in the wai Id wide 

Sae wretched now as me. 



MERRY HAE I BEENTEETHIN 
A HECKLE. 

TUNE — "lord BREADALBANE'S 
MARCH." 

O MERRY hae I been teethin' a heckle,' 
And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon ; 
O merry hae I been cloutin^ a kettle. 
And kissin' my Katie when a' was 
done. 
O a' the lang day I ca' at my h.ammer, 
An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing. 
An' a' the lang night I cuddle my kim- 
mer,3 
An' a' the lang night am as happy 's 
a king. 

Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, 

O' marrying Bejs, to gie her a slave : 
Blest be the hour she cool'd in her 
linnens. 
And blythe be the bird that sings on 
her grave. 
Comi to my arms, my Katie, my Katie ; 
An' come to my aims, and kiss me 
again ! 
Drunken '>. soberj here's to thee, Katie I 
An' blest be the day I did it again. 



RATTLIV ROARIN' WILLIE. 

TUNE — " RAXTLIN', ROARIn' WILI tB.' 

O rattlin,* roarin' Willie, 

O, he held to the fair. 
An' for to sell his fiddle. 

An' buy some other ware ; 
But parting wi' his fiddle. 

The saut tear blin't his e'e ; 
And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me ! 



' A board with £lkw» **'sel prongs foi 
dressing hemp. 
^ Repairing. ^ Vouns *irl 



60NGS. 



235 



O Willie, come acll /oiir fiddle, 

sell your uddle sac fine ; 
O Willie, come sell your fiddle. 

And buy a pint o' wine ! 
If 1 should sell my fiddle, 

The warl' would think I was mad, 
For mony a rantin' day 

My fiddle ana I hae had. 
As I cam by Crochallan, 

1 cannily keekit ben — 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sitting at yon board en' ; 
Sitting at yon board en',^ 

And amang guid companie ; 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame tcf me ! 



O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLVS 
SWEET. 

As I was walking up the street, 

A barefit maid I chanced to meet ; 
But O the road was very hard 

For that fair maiden's tender feet. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mall3''s modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 
It were more meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shoon, 
And 'twere more fit that she should sit 

Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 
Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 
Comes trinkling^ down her swan- 
white neck. 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies. 
Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 



\ SAE FAR AWA. 

i rtraiE— " DALKEI PH MAIDEN BRIDGE. 

O, SAD and heavy should I part. 
But fDr her sake sae far awa ; 



End. 



' Trickiing. 



Unknowing what my way may thwart. 
My native land sae far awa. 

Thou that of a' things Maker art. 
That form'd this Fair sae far awa, 

Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 
At this my way sae far awa. 

How true is love to pure desert. 

So love to her, sae far awa : 
And nocht can heal my bosom's smart. 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I feel but hers, sae far awa ; 
But fairer never touch'd a heart 

Than hers, the Fair sae far awa. 



O STEER HER UP. 

TUNE — "O STEER HER UP, AND HAUD 

HER GAUN." 

O, STEER ^ her up, and baud her gauu— 

Her mother's at the mill, jo ; 
And gin she winna take a man. 

E'en let her take her will, jo : 
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss. 

And ca' another gill, jo. 
And gin she take the thing amiss. 

E'en let ner flyte her fill, jo. 

O steer her up, and be na blate. 

An' gin she take it ill, jo. 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate. 

And time nae longer spill, jo : 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute. 

But think upon it still, jo ; 
Then gin the lassie winna do't, 

Ye'll fin' anither will, jo. 



O, WHARE DID YE GET. 

TUNE — " BONNIE DUNDEE." 

O, WHARE did ye get that hauver- 

meal ^ bannock ? 

O silly blind body, O dinna ye see ? 

I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, 

Between Saint Johnston and bonni« 

Dundee. 



Stir. 



Oatmeal. 



*36 



irORKS OF BURNS. 



O gin L saw the laddie that gae me't ! 

Aft has he doodled me up on his knee; 

May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots 

laddie, 

And send him safe hame to his babie 

and me ! 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie, 
My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e 
brie ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger 
laddie, 
T hou's ay be dearer and dearer to 
nie ! 
But I'll big a hower on yon bonnie 
banks. 
Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear ; 
And I'll deed ^ thee in the tartan sae 
fine, 
And mak thee a man like thy daddie 
dear. 



THE FETE CHAMPETRE.* 

TUNE — " KILLIECRANKIB." 

O WHA will to Saint Stephen's house, 

'I'o do our errands there, man ? 
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man ? 
Or will we send a man-o'-law ? 

Or will we send a sodger? 
Or him 3 wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle Ursa-Major? 

Come, will ye court a noble lord, 

Or buy a score o' lairds, man? 
For worth and honour pawn their word, 

Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man 
And gies them coin, ane gies them wine 

Anither gies them clatter ; 
Anbank,^ wha guess'd the ladies' taste. 

He gies a Fete Champetre. 

When Love and Beauty heard the news 
The gay green-woods amang, man 



» Clothe. 

"^ Given by Mr. Cunningham, of En 
teikin. ^ 3 Boswell 

* A place belonging to Mr. Cunning 
ham, and which, after the Scottish cus 
»Din, bestows a name on the Laird. 



Where gathering flowers and busking 
bowers. 

They heard the blackbird's sanj, 
man ; 
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss. 

Sir Politics to fetter 
As theirs alone, the patent -I liss. 

To hold a F6te Champelu*. 
Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing 

O'er hill and dale she flew, man ; 
Ilk wiinpling burn, ilk crystal spring, 

Ilk glen and shaw she knew, mau : 
She siunmon'd every social sprite. 

That sports by wood or water. 
On th' bonny banks of Ayr to meet, 

And keef) this F6te Champetre. 
Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew. 

Were bound to stakes likekye, man; 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 

Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
Reflected beams dwell in the streams. 

Or down the current shatter ; 
The western breeze steals through the 
trees. 

To view this F6te Champetre. 
How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 

What sparkling jewels glance, man 1 
To Harmony's enchanting notes. 

As moves the mazy dance, man. 
The echoing wood, the winding flood. 

Like Paradise did glitter, 
When angels met, at Adam's yett,^ 

To hold their Ft^te ChampStre. 
When Politics came there, to mix 

And make his ether-stane," man ! 
He circled round the magic ground, 

But entrance found he nane, man : 
He blush'd for shame, he quat^ his 
name. 

Forswore it, every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and share 

This festive F6te Champ6tre. 



SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME 

TUNE—" AY WAUKIN O." 

Simmer's a pleasant time, 
Flow'rs of ev'ry colour ; 



Gate. ' Adder-stone. 



^Quit 



SONGS, 



rhe water tins o'ei the heugh,' 
And I long for my true lover. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukiti still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 

Fo.- thinking on my deai Je. 

When I sleep I dream, 

When I wauk I'm eerie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave are sleeping ; 
I think on my bonnie lad, 
And I bleer my een with greetin'. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my dearie. 



THE BLUDE-RED ROSE AT 
YULE MAY BLAW. 

TUNE — " TO DAUNTON MF." 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw. 
The Simmer lilies bloom in snaw, 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; 
But an auld man shall never daunton 
me. 

'^o daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring 

tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton 

me. 

For a' his meal and a' his maut. 
For a' his fresh beef and bis saut. 
For a' his gold and white monie, 
An auld man shall nev.r daunton me. 

His gear may buy him kye and yowes, 
His gear may buy hiji g'.ens and 

knowes ; 
But me he shall not buy nr / Te^, 
Fur an auld man shal' nrv',r darnton 

me. 



'^t»%. 



He hirples twa-fauld as he dow, 

Wi' his teethless gab and his auld bold 

pow. 
And the rain rains down frae his red 

bleer'd e'e — 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 
To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring 

tongue. 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton 
me. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

TUNE — " IF THOU'lT PLAY ME FAIR 
PLAY." 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 

Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie. 
Wore a plaid and was fu' braw, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie. 
His loyal heart was firm and true, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound and cannons roar, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie. 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 
Glory, Honour, now invite, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie, 
For freedom and my King to fight 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 
The sun a backward course shall take, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
Ere aught thy manly courage shake ; 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
Go, for yoursel procure renown, 

Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie. 
And for your lawful King his crown ; 

Bonnie Highland laddie ! 



THE COOPER O' CUDDIE. 

TUNE — "bob AT the BOWSTEK." 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here n.w3f 
And cad the girrs out owre us a' — 



•38 



WORKS OF Bi 'RNS. 



And our giide-wife has gotten a ca' 
That anger'd the silly guid-man, O. 

We'll hide the cooper behind the door. 

Behind the door, behind the door ; 

We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
And cover him under a mawn/ O. 

Hesought them out, he sought them in, 

\Vi', Deil hae her I and, Deil hae him ! 

Bvit the body was sae doited and blin',^ 

He wist na where he was gaun, O. 

They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd 

at morn, 
Till our guid-man has gotten the scorn ; 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn. 

And swears that they shall stan', O, 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
Behind the door, behind the door. 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door. 

And cover him under a mawn, O. 



THE TAILOR. 

TUNE — " THE TAILOR FELL THRO' 
THE BED, THIMBLES AN' A'." 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 

an' a'. 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 

an a', 
The blankets were thin, and the sheets 

they were sma', 
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 

an' a'. 
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded 

nae ill. 
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded 

nae ill; 
The weather was cauld, and the lassie 

lay still, 
She thought that a tailor could do her 

nae ill. 
Gie me the groat again, caimy young 

man ; 
Gie me vhe groat again, canny young 

inan ; 
The day it is short, and the night it is 

lang. 
The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 



Basket. 



SlupifHd and blind. 



There's somebody weary wi' lying hei 

lane ; 
There's somebody weary wi' lying hei 

lane ; 
There's some that are dowie,^ I trow 

wad be fain 
To Si^e the bit tailor come skippin' 

again. 



NITHSDALE'S WELCOME 
HAME. 

The noble Maxwells and their powen 

Are coming o'er the border. 
And they'll gae bigg^ Terreagle'f 
towers. 

An' set them a' in order. 
And they declare Terreagle's fair, 

For their abode they choose it ; 
There's no a heart in a' the land, 

But's lighter at the news o't. 

Tho' stars in skies may disappear. 

And angry tempests gather ; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather : 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May hae a joyful morrow ; 
So dawning day has brought relief— 

Fareweel our night o' sorrow ! 



THE TITHER MORN. 

The tither mom. 

When I forlorn, 
Aueath an aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow, 

I'd see my jo, 
Beside me, 'gain the gloaming. 

But he sae trig 

Lap o'er the rig. 
And dawtingly did cheer me, 

When I, what reck. 

Did least expec' 
To see my lad so near me. 

His bonnet he, 
A thought ajee, 



* Worn with grief. 



BuUd 



SONGS. 



ai5 



Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me ; 

And I, I wat, 

Wi' I'ainness grat, 
)^Tiile in his grips he press'd me. 

Deil tak" the war ! 

I, late and air, 
Hac wish'd since Jock departed ; 

But now as glad 

I'm wi' my lad, 
As ihort syne broken-hearted. 

Fu' aft at e'en 

Wi' dancing keen, 
When a' were blythe and merry, 

I card na by, 

Sae sad was I 
In absence o' my dearie. 

But, praise be blest. 

My mind's at rest, 
I'm happy wi' my Johnny : 

At kirk and fair, 

I'se ay be there, 
*nd be as canty's ony. 



THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN 
BRAES. 

TUNE — " KELLVBURN BRAES." 

TuEK'E lived a carle on Kellyburn braes, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme;. 
And he had a wife was the plague o' 
his days ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang 
glen, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
He met wi' the Devil ; says, " How do 
you fen?" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 
" I've got a bad wife, sir ; that's a' my 
complaint, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
For, saving your presence, to her ye're 
a saint ; " 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 



" It's neither your stot* nor your staig^ 
I shall crave, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi 
thyme), 
But gie me your wife, man, for h<;r I 
must have ; " 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

" O welcome, most kindly," the blj the 
carle said, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi 
thyme), 
" But if ye can match her, ye're waiii 
nor ye're ca'd ; " 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

The Devil has got the auld wife on his 
back, 
(Hey, and tlie rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme''. 
And, like a poor pedler, he's carried 
his pack ; 
And tlie thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

He's carried her hame to his ain hall in- 
door, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme^, 
Syne bade her gae in, for a b — and a 
w — ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick 
o' his band, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
Turn out on her guard in the clap of a 
hand ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 

The carlin gaed thro' them like ony 
wud^ bear, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wt 
thyme), 
Wliae'er she gat hands on carae neai 
her nae mair ; 
And the thjTne it is wither'd, and lat 
is in prime. 



Ox. 



* Two-year ®)d horse. 
3 Wild. 



240 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



A reekit ' wee D(,'vil looks over the vva', 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
" O, help, master, help, or she'll ruin 
us a' ; " 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 
The Devil he swore by the edge o' his 
knife, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
He pitied the man that was tied to a 
wife ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 
The Devil he swore by the kirk and the 
bell, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
He was not in wedlock, tlumk heav'n, 
but in hell ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 
Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his 
pack, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme), 
And to her auld husband he's carried 
her back ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 
is in prime. 
" I hae been a Devil the feck o' my 
life, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' 
thyme). 
But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a 
wife ; " 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and i-ue 
is in prime. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 

TUNE — "DUNCAN DAVISON." 

There was a lass, they ca'd her Mea 
And she held o'er the moors to spin ; 

There was a lad that foUowM her, 
They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 

* Smoking. 



THE PLOUGHMAN. 

TUNE — " UP \Vl' THE PLOUGHMAN." 

The ploughman he's a bonnie lad. 

His mind is ever true, jo. 
His garters knit below his knee, 

His bonnet it is blue, jo. 

CHORUS. 

Then up wi't a', my ploughman lad, 
And hey, my merry ploughman ; 

Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman. 

My ploughman he comes hame at e'en 
He's aften wat and weary ; 

Cast off the wat, put on the dry. 
And gae to bed, my Dearie ! 
Up wi't a', &c. 

1 will wash my ploughman's hose, 
And I will dress his o'erlay ; * 

I will mak my ploughman's bed. 
And cheer him late and early. 
Up wi't a', &c. 



* Tedious. 
Gear. 



Proud. 
* Cravat. 



The moor was dreigh,* and IMeg waj 
skeigh,^ 

Her favour Duncan could na win ; 
For wi' the roke she wad him kno<:k. 

And ay she shook the temper-pin. 

As o'er the moor they lightly 'oor, 

A biu-n was clear, a glen wa> green. 
Upon the banks they eased their shank s, 

And ay she set the wheel between : 
But Duncan swore a haly aith, 

That Meg should be a bride the moi n ; 
Then Meg took up her spinnin' grailh,-^ 

And flimg them a' out o'er the bui u. 

We'll big a house — a wee, wee house. 

And we will live like King and Queen, 
Sae blythe and merry we will be 

When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
A man may drink and no be drunk ; 

A man may fight and no be slain ; 
A man may kiss a bonnie lass. 

And ay be welcome back again. 



SONGS. 



1 li&tt .-^eiin east, I hae been west, 

I hac be;n at Saint Johnston, 
The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 

Was th' ploughman laddie dancin', 
Up wi't a', &c. 
Snaw-white stockins on his legs, 

And siller buckles glancin' ; 
A guid blue bannet on his head. 

And O, but he was handsome I 
Up wi't a', &c. 
Conunend me to the barn yard. 

And the corn-mou, man ; 
I never ga t my coggie fou 

Till I met wi' the ploughman. 
Up wi't a', &c. 



THE CARLES OF DYSART. 

TUNE — "hey CA' thro'." 

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, 

And the lads o' Buckhaven, 
And the kimmers* o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 

For we hae mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. 
For we hae mickle ado. 
We hae tales to tell. 

And we hae sangs to sing ; 
We hae pennies to spend. 

And we hae pints to bring. 
We'll live a' our days, 

And them tliat come behin', 
Let them do the like. 
And spend the gear they win. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. 

For we hae mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. 
For we hae mickle ado. 



WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN 
GRAY. 

TUNE — "DUNCAN GRAY." 

IVeary fa' you, Duncan Gray— 
li a, ha, the girdin o't ! 

' Gossips. 



Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
When a' the lave gae to their play. 
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day. 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae. 

And a' for the girdin o"t. 

Bonnie was the Lammas moon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
The girdin brak, the beast cam down, 
I tint my curch,' and baith my shoon ; 
Ah ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon— 

Wae on the bad girdin o't ! 

But, Duncan, gin ye'U keep your aith— 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Ise bless you wi' my hindmost breath— 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, 
The beast again can bear us baith, 
And auld Mess John will mend the 
skaith,^ 

And clout the bad girdin o't. 



MY H0GGIE.3 

TUNE — "what will 1 DO GIN MY 
HOGGIE DIE." 

What will I do gin my Hoggie die? 

My joy, my pride, my Hoggie ! 
My only beast, I had nae mae. 

And vow but I was vogie ! 4 
The lee-lang night we watch'd the faul :., 

Me and my faithfu' doggie ; 
We heard nought but the roarinj^ linn, 

Amang the braes sae scroggie ; 5 
But the houlet cry'd frae the castle va 

The blitter frae the boggie, 
The tod 6 reply'd upon the hill, 

I trembled for my Hoggie. 

* Lost the covering for the head. 
' Damage, 

3 The hoggie, alias pet ewe, was 
Margaret Brodie, of Coxton, in Banff 
shire. The song was taken down by 
Bums from the singing of an old "oman 
in Liddesdale. — Bjtc/inn. 

4 Vain. 5 Bushy. 6 Fox. 



«4» 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



When day did daw, and cocks did craw. 
The morning it was foggie ; 

An unco tyke ^ lap o'er the dyke, 
And maist has kill'd my Hoggie. 



WHERE HAE YE BEEN. 

TUNE — " KILLIECKANKIE." 

^\'HARE hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Where hae ye been sae brankie,^ O ? 
O, whare hae j^e been sae brav lad ? 

Cam ye by Kilhecrankie, O t 
Aji' ye had been whare I hae been. 

Ye wad na been so cantie, O ; 
An' ye had seen what I hae seen, 

On the braes o' Kilhecrankie, O. 

I fought at land, I fought at sea : 

At hame I fought my auntie, O ; 
But I met the Devil an' Dundee, 

On the braes o' Kilhecrankie, O. 
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,^ 

An' Clavers got a clankie, O ; 
Or I had fed an Athole gled,^ 

On the braes o' Kilhecrankie, O. 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 

TUNE — "cock up your BEAVER.' 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 

Came to this town. 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown ; 
But now he has gotten 

A hat and a feather, — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 

Cock up your beaver. 

And cock it fu' sprush. 
We'll over the border 

And gie them a brush ; 
1 here's somebody there 

We'll teach better behaviour — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 



»Dog. 
* Furrow. 



= Gaudy. 
4 Hawk. 



THE HERON BALLADS.* 

FIRST BALLAD. 

Whom will you send to London towa 

To Parliament and a' that ? 
Or wha in a' the country round 
The best deserves to fa' that ? 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Thro' Galloway and a' that, 
Where is the laird, or belted knigh^ 
That best deserves to fa' that ? 
Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, 

And wha is't nevei saw that ? 
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met, 
And has a doubt of a' that ; 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ; 
The independent patriot, 
The honest man, an' a' that. 
Tho' wit and worth in either sex, 
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix. 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
The independent commoner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 

But why should we to nobles jouk? 

And it's against the law that ; 
For why, a lord may be a gouk, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A lord may be a lousy loun, 
Wi" ribbon, star, an' a' that. 
A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 

Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that ; 
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels. 
A man we ken, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that ! 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
For we're not to be bought an' soW 
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that. 

* This is the first of several ballads 
which Burns wrote to serve Patrick 
Heron, of Kerroughtree, in two elec- 
tions, in which he was opposed, fiist by 
Gordon, of Balmaghie, and secondly 
by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart.— 
Allan Cunningham. 



r 



SONGS. 



243 



iTien let us drink the Stewartry, * 

Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that, 
Our representative to be. 

For weel he's worthy a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A House of Commons such as he. 
They would hs blest that saw that. 



THE ELECTION. 

SECOND BALLAD. 

Fv, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 

¥\r there will be bickerin' there ; 
Foi Alurray's light-horse are to muster. 

Anil O, how the heroes will swear ! 
Aa' there will be Murray commander, 

And Gordon the battle to win ; 
Like brothers they'll stand by each 
other, 

Sae knit in alliance an' kin. 
Kn! there will be black-lippit Johnnie, 

The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
fin' he get na hell for his haddin', 

The Ueil gets na justice ava' ; 
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie, 

A boy no sae black at the bane, 
('ut, as for his fine nabob fortune, 

We'll e'en let the subject alane. 

<in' there will be Wigton's new sheriff, 

Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped. 
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 

But, Lord, what's become o' the head ? 
hn' there will be Cardoness, Esquire, 

Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes ; 
A. wight that will weather damnation, — 

For the Devil the prey will despise. 
An' there will be Douglasses doughty, 

Nevy chrisl'ning towns far and near ! 
Abjuring their democrat doings. 

By kissing the o' a peer ; 

An' there will be Kenmure saegen'rous, 

Whose honour is proof to the storm ; — 
To save them from stark reprobation, 

He lent them his name to the firm. 
But we winna mention Redcastle, 

I'he Vjody, e'en let liim escape ! 
He'd V mture the gallows for siller. 

An' twere na the co'>t 0' the rape. 



An' where is our Khig'slord-lieulcaant, 
Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return ? 

The billie is gettin' his questions, 
To say in St. Stephen's the morn. 

An' there will be lads o' the gospel, 

Muirhead, wha's as gude as he'.>5 true; 
An' there will be Buittie's apostie, 

Wha's more o' the black than the blue; 
An' there will be folk from St. Mary's, 

A house o' great merit and note, 
The Deil ane but honours themhighiy,— 

The Deil ane will gie them his vote ! 

An' there will be wealthy young Rich- 
ard, 

Dame Fortune should hing by the 
neck; 
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing, 

His merit had won him respec' : 
An' there will be rich brother nabobs. 

Though nabobs, yet men of the hrst, 
An' there will be Collieston's whiskers, 

An' Quintin, o' lads not the worst. 

An' there will be stamp-office Johimie, 

Tak tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie, 

An' there will bo gleg Colonel Tarn ; 
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree, 

Whose honour was ever his law ; 
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel. 

His worth might be sample for a'. 

An' can we forget the auld major, 

Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys ; 
Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some other, 

Him only 'tis justice to praise. 
An' there will be maiden Kilkerran, 

And also Barskimming's gude knight, 
An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle, 

Wha, luckily, roars in the right. 

An' there, frae the Niddesdale's border. 

Will mingle the Maxwells in droves , 
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, au* 
Walie, 

That griens ^ for the fishes an' loaves , 
An' there will be Logan Mac Douall, 

Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there, 
An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 

Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair. 



* Longs. 
s a 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Then hey the chaste interest o" Brough- 
ton, 

An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring! 
It may send Balmaghie to the Com- 
mons, 

In Sodom 'twould make him a King ; 
An' hey for the sanctified Murray, 

Our land who wi' chapels has stor'd ; 
He founder'd his horse among harlots. 

But gied the auld naig to the Lord. 



AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 



THIRD BALLAD. 

Wha Will buy my troggin,^ 

Fine election ware : 
Broken trade o' Broughton, 
A' in high repair? 
Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee ; 
WTia wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

There's a noble Earl's 

Fame and high renown, 
For an auld sang — 

It's thought the gudes were stown. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth o' Broughton 

In a needle's e'e ; 
Here's a reputation 

1 "int by Balmaghie. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's an honest conscience 

Wight a prince adorn ; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald — 

Sae was never worn. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the stuff and lining, 

O' Cardoness' head ; 
Fine for a sodger, 

A' the wale o' lead. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 



L 



* Trogi^ln is the merchandise of 
tii.\ illing hawker. 



Here's a litJe wadset, 

Buittle's scrap o' trut'u, 
Pawn'd in a gin-shop. 

Quenching holy drouth. 
Buy braw troggin, &c 
Here's armorial bearings 

Frae the manse o' Urr ; 
The crest, an auld crab-apple 

Rotten at the core.^ 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 
Here is Satan's picture, 

Like a bizzard gled,^ 
Pouncing poor Redcastle 

Sprawlin' as a taed. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 
Here's the worth and wisdom 

Collieston can boast ; 
By a thievish midge 

They had been nearly lost. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 
Here is Murray's fragments 

O' the ten commands ; 
Gifted by black Jock 

To get them aff his hands. 
Buy braw troggin, &.C. 

Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 

If to buy ye're slack, 
Hornie's turnin' chapman, — 

He'll buy a' the pack. 

Buy braw troggin, &c 



YE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 

TUNE—" SHAWNBOV." 

Ye sons of old Killie, assemMed bj 
Willie, 
To follow the noble vocation ; 
Your thrifty old mother has scaics sudi 
another 
To sit in that honoured station. 
I've little to say, but only to pray. 

As praying's the ton of your fashion ; 
A prayer from the Iviuse you may well 
excuse, 
'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 



* The allusion is to Dr. Muirheac^ 
Minister of Urr. ' Hawk. 



SONGS 



245 



Ve powers who preside o'er the wind 
and the tide, 
Wh J marked each element's horder ; 
Who formed this frame with beneficent 
aim, 
\H'hose sovereign statute is order ; 
Within this dear mansion may way- 
ward contention 
Or witherefi envy ne'er enter ; 
Miy secrecy round be the mystical 
bound, 
And brotherly love be the centre ! 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME.* 

TVH« — " YE JACOBITES BY NAME." 

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, 
give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name. 

Your fautes I will proclaim, 
Yourdoctrines I maun blame — 
You shall hear. 

What is right and what is wrang, by 
the law, by the law ? 
^\'hat is right and what is wrang by 
the law ? 
What is right and what is wrang? 
A short sword and a lang, 
A weak arm, and a Strang 
For to draw. 

' Burns founded this song on some 
dM verses, in which it was intimated 
ihat the extinction of the House of 
Stuart was sought for by other weapons 
than the sword. It cannot be denied 
thai if the House of Hanover had the 
affection of the people and the law of 
the land on their side, the exiled princes 
had the best poetry. This may be ac- 
counted for. The romantic adventures 
and daring exploits and deep sufferings 
of Prince Charles enlisted sympathy 
on his side; and the minstrels, regard- 
ing his fate and that of his brave com- 
panions as funiisbing matter for poetry 
only, suiig with a pathos and force 
wh.ch w ill liV ;ly be long remembered. 
-A. U 



What makes heroic strife, fani'd afar, 
fam'd afar ? 
What makes heroic strife fam'd afar? 
What makes heroic strife ? 
To whet th' assassin's knife. 
Or hunt a parents life 
Wi' bluidie war. 

Then let your schemes alone, in the 
state, in the state ; 
Then let your schemes alone in the 
state ; 
Then let your schemes alone. 
Adore the rising sun. 
And leave a man imdone 
To his fate. 



SONG — AH, CHLORIS. 

TUNE—" MAJOR GRAHAM." 

Ah, Chloris, since it may na be. 
That thou of love wilt hear ; 

If from the lover thou maun flee. 
Yet let the friend be dear. 

Altho' I love my Chloris mair 
Than ever tongue could tell ; 

My passion I will ne'er declare, 
I'll say I'll wish thee well: 

Tho' a' my daily care thou art. 
And a' my nightly dream, 

I'll hide the struggle in my heart, 
And say it is esteem. 



EXTEMPORE ANSWER TO AN 
INVITATION. 

The King's most humble servant I, 
Can scarcely spare a minute ; 

But I'U be wi' ye by an' bye ; 
Or else the Deil's be in it. 



My bottle is my holy pool. 
That heals the wounds o' care a a' dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout. 
An' ye drink it, ye'll find him out. 



9^ 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



KATHARINE JAFFRAY. 

Thei^e liv'd a lass in j onder dale, 

And down in yonder glen, O, 
And Katharine J affray was her name, 

Weel known to many men, O. 
Out came the Lord of Lauderdale, 

Out frae the south countrie, O, 
All for to court this pretty maid. 

Her bridegroom for to be, O. 
He's tell'd her fathei and mother baith, 

As J hear sindry say, O, 
But he has na tell'd the lass hersel, 

1 ill on her wedding day, O. 
Then cam the Laird o' Lochinton, 

Out frae the English border, 
All for to court this pretty maid, 

All mounted in good order. 



THE COLLIER LADDIE. 

O WHARE live ye, my bonnie lass. 
And tell me how they ca' ye ? 

My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
And I follow my Collier laddie. 

see ye not yon hills and dales, 
The sun shines on sae brawlie : 

They a' are mine, and they shall be 
thine. 
Gin ye'll leave your Collier laddie. 

And ye shall gang in rich attire, 

Weel buskit up fu' gaudy ; 
And ane to wait at every hand. 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier laddie. 

1 ho' ye had a' the sun shines on. 
And the earth conceals sae lowly ; 

I would turn my back on you and it a'. 
And embrace my Collier laddie. 

I can win my five pennies in a day, 
And spend it at night fu' brawlie ; 

I can mak my bed in the Collier's neuk. 
And lie down wi' my Collier laddie. 

Luve for luve is the bargain for me, 
Tho' the wee cot-house should baud 
me ; 
And the warld before me to wm my 
bread. 
And fare fa' my Collier laddie. 



'WHEN I THINK ON THOSE 
HAPPY DAYS. 

When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 

And now what lands between us lie. 
How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It was na sae ye glinted by. 
When I was wi' my dearie. 



EPPIE M'NAB. 

O SAW ye my dearie, my Eppie 

M'Nab? 
O saw ye my dfarie. my Eppie 

M'Nab? 
She's down in the yara, she's kissin' 

the laird : 
She winna come hame to her ain Jock 

Rab. 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie 

M'Nab ! 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie 

M'Nab : 
Wliate'er thou has done, be it late, be 

it soon, 
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock 

Rab. 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie 

M'Nab? 
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie 

M'Nab? 
She lets thee to wit, that she has thee 

forgot. 
And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock 

Rab. 
O had I ne'er ssea thee, my Eppie 

M'Nab ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie 

M'Nab! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's 

fair, 
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock 

Rab. 



SOATGS. 



rO CHLORIS.* 



Brhold, my love, how green the groves. 

The primrose banks how fair ; 
The balmy gales awake the flow'rs, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 
The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings ; 
For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween. 

To shepherds as to Kings. 

L-jt minstrels sweep the skilfu' string. 

In lordly lighted ha' ; 
The shepherd stops his simple reed 

Blythe in the birken shaw. 
The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours, 

Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo ; 
The courtier tells a finer tale. 

But is his heart as true ? 
These wild wood flow'rs I've pu'd to 
deck 

That spotless breast o' thme ; 
The courtier's gems may witness love, 

But 'tis na love like mine. 



AN' O ! MY EPPIE. 

An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie ' 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
By love, and by beauty, 
By law, and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair ! 

An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie ! 
Wha wadna be happy 
Wi' Eppie Adair? 

* On my visit the other day to my 
fair Chloris, she suggested an idea, 
which I, on my return from my visit, 
wrought into the following song. How 
do you like the simplicity and tender- 
ness of this pastoral?— R. B., Nov., 
.794. 



A' pleasure exile me. 

Dishonour defile me. 

If e'er I beguile thee. 

My Eppie Adair ! 



GUDEE'N TO YOU, KIMMER, 

Gudee'n to you, Kimmer, 

And how d'ye do ? 
Hiccup, quo' Kimmer, 
The better that I am fou. 

We're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddm, 
We're a' noddin at our house ol 
hams. 
Kate sits i' the neuk, 

Suppin hen broo ; 
Deil tak Kate 
An' she be na noddin too I 
We're a' noddin, &c. 
How's a' wi' you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye fare ? 
A pint o' the best o't, 
And twa pints mair. 
We're a' noddin, &C. 
How's a' wi' you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye thrive ; 
How mony bairns hae ye? 
Quo' Kimmer, I hae five. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 
Are they a' Johnny's ? 

Eh ! atweel na : 
Twa o' them were gotten 
When Johnny was awa. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 
Cats like milk. 

And dogs like broo ; 
I,ads like lasses weel, 
And lasses lads too. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 



O WAT YE WHA THAT LO'ES 
ME. 

TUNE — "mORAG." 

O WAT ye wha that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a-keeping ? 

» Broth. 



*48 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



() sweet 13 she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' summer weeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping : 

O that's the lassie o' my heart, 
My lassie, ever dearer ; 

O that's the (jueen o' woman-kind. 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thou shalt meet a lassie. 

In grace and beauty charming ; 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Erewhile thy breast sae warming. 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming ; 
O that's the lassie, &c. 

If thou hast heard her talking, 
And thy attention's plighted. 

That ilka body talking. 

But her, by thee is slighted, 

And thou art all delighted : 

O that's the lassie, &c. 

If thou hast met this fair one, — 
When frae her thou hast parted. 

If every other fair one, 
But her, thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted : 
O that's the lassie, &c. 



THERE'S NEWS, LASSES. 

There's news, lasses, news, 
Gude news I have to tell. 
There's a boat fu' o' lads 
Come to our town to sell. 
The wean wants a cradle, 

And the cradle wants a cod,' 
And I'll no gang to my bed 
Until I get a nod. 

Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she. 

Do what you can, 
I'll nae gang to my bed 

Till I get a man. 
The wean, &c. 

I hae as gude a craft rig 
As made o' yird and stane ; 

And waly fa' the ley-crap, 
For I maun till't again. 
I'he wean, &c. 



^ Pillow. 



O THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN 
MARRIED. 

O THAT I had ne'er been married, 

I wad never had nae care ; 
Now I've gotten wife and bairns. 
An' they cry crowdie ^ ever mair. 
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie. 

Three times crowdie in a day ; 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair, 
Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away, 
Waefu' want and hunger fley^ me, 

Glowerin by the hallan en' ; 
Sair I fecht3 them at the door, 
But ay I'm eerie they come ben. 
Ance crowdie, &c. 



FRAE THE FRIENDS AND 
LAND I L0VE.4 

Frae the friends and land I love. 

Driven by Fortune's felly 5 spite, 
Frae my best belov'd I rove. 

Never mair to taste delight ; 
Never mair maun hope to find 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care ; 
When remembrance wracks the mhid, 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 
Brightest climes shall mirk appear. 

Desert ilka blooming shore. 
Till the Fates, nae mair severe, 

Friendship, love, and peace restore ; 
Till Revenge wi' laurel'd head 

Bring our banished hame again ; 
And ilk loyal, bonnie lad 

Cross the seas and win his ain. 

* Oatmeal, water, and butter. 
' Scare. 3 Fought. 

4 Burns, in his notes on the " Musi- 
cal Museum," says of this song, " I 
added the last four lines by way of giv- 
ing a turn to the theme of the poem 
such as it is." It has been suggested 
by his editors, that Burns mended his 
song as the Highlander mended his 
gun, by giving to it a new stock, a new 
lock, and a new bairel. 

5 Relentless. 



THE TWA HERDS. 



24h 



SCROGGAM. 



Theke was a vvife wonn'd in Co-kpen, 

Scrog^ain ; 
She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen, 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down b) me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 

The gudewife's dochter fell in a fever, 

Scroggam ; 
The priest o' the parish fell in anither ; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me. 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 
They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, 

Scroggam ; 
That the heat o' the lane might cool 

the tither; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 



THE TEARS I SHED.* 

The tears I shed must ever fall ; 

I mourn not for an absent swain. 
For thought may past delights recall, 

And parted lovers meet again. 
I weep not for the silent dead, 

Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er. 
And those they lov'd their steps shall 
tread. 

And death shall join to part no more. 

Tho' boundless oceans roll'd between. 

If certain that his heart is near, 
A conscious transport glads each scene. 

Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear. 
E'en when by" Death's cold hand re- 
mov'd, 

We mourn the tenant of the tomb, 
To think that even in death he lov'd. 

Can gild the horrors of the gloom. 

But bitter, bitter are the tears 
Of her who slighted love bewails ; 

No hope her dreary prospect cheers. 
No pleasing melancholy hails. 

* The first four lines of the last stanza 
were added by Burns ; the song being 
the composition of Miss Cranstoun, 
afterwards the wife of Dugald Stewart. 



Hers are the pangs of wounded pride. 

Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy : 
The prop, she lean'd on, pierc'd hei 
side ; 

The flame, she fed, bums to destroy. 
In vain does memory renew, 

The hours once ting'd in transport's 
dye ; 
The sad reverse soon starts to view. 

And turns the thought to agony. 
Even conscious virtue cannot cure 

The pangs to every feeling due : 
Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how pool. 

To steal a heart, and break it too ! 
No cold approach, no alter" d nien. 

Just what would make suspicion 
start ; 
No pause the dire extremes between, 

He made me blest — and broke my 
heart ! 
From hope, the wretched's anchor, 
torn. 

Neglected, and neglecting all, 
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn, 

The tears I shed must ever fall. 



THE TWA HERDS.* 

Blockheads with reason wicked wits 

abhor, 
But Fool with Fool is barbarous civil 

war. — Pope. 

O a' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed in pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox. 
Or worrying tykes ?^ 



* The Twa " Herds" were the min 
ister of Riccarton, and the assistant- 
minister of Kilmarnock, whose contro- 
versial animosity burst out in blowj 
during a walk honie after a " Sacra- 
ment" sermon. Burns recorded the 
feat of arms in a " burlesque lamenta- 
tion," which, as he informs us, with a 
certain description of the clergy, as 
well as laity, met with a roar of ap- ^ 

plause. Burns gave a copy to a friend, 
and professed ignorance of the writer. 

=* Dogs. 



•so 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks,* 
About the dykes? 

The twa bes t herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty simmers past, 

O, dool to tell ! 
Hae had a bitter black out-cast 

Atween themsel. 

O, Moodie, man, and wordy Russell, 
How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'll see how New-light herds will 
whistle, 

And think it fine ! 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle, 

Sin' 1 ha'e min'. 

O, Sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit 

Your duty ye wad sae negleckit. 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit. 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi* Hoodie's flock could 

rank, 
Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank 

He let them taste ; 
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they 
drank, — 

O' sic a feast ! 

The thummart,' wil'-cat, brock, and 

tod,3 
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smell'd their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in. 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid. 

And sell their skin. 

What herd hke Russell tell'd his tale. 
His voice was heard thro' muir and 

dale, 
He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height. 
And saw gin they were sick or hale. 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub. 
Or nobly fling the goipel club. 



* Stray sheep and old ewes. 
Pole-cat. 3 Badger and fox. 



And New-light herds could Aicelj 
drub. 

Or pay their skin ; 
Could shake them owr^ the tisrning 
dub,^ 

Or heave them in. 
Sic twa — O ! do I live to see't. 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
An' names, like "villain," "hvpo' 
crite," 

Ilk ither gi'en. 
While New-light herds wi' laughin 
spite, 

Say " neither's lien " ! 
A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 
There's Duncan deep, and Peebles 

shaul,^ 
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, 

We trust in thee. 
That thou wilt work them, het and 
cauld, 

Till they agree. 
Consider, Sirs, how we're beset '. 
There's scarce a new herd that we get, 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set 

I winna name ; 
I hope frae Heaven to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 
Dalrymple has been lang our fae, 
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae, 
And that curs'd rascal ca'd M'Quhae, 

And baith the Shaws, 
That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld Wodrow lang has hatch'd mis- 
chief. 
We thought aye death wad bring relief. 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef ; ' 
I meikle dread him. 

And monie a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turn-coats amang ouisd. 

There's Smith for ane, 
I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill,* 

And that ye'll fin'. 



* Pond. =; Shallow. 
3 Give us a severe beating. 

* Unfit for a pen. 



ilOL Y WILLIE'S PR A YER. 



O ! a' ye flocks, owre a' the hills, 
By m jsses, meadows, moors, and fells, 
Come join your counsels and your 
skills. 

To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the power themsels 

To cht tose their herds. 
Then Orthodoxy yet may prance. 
And Learning in a woody dance. 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Bt banish'd owre the seas to France ; 

Let him bark there. 

Tien Shaw's and D'rymple's elo- 
quence, 
M 'Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 

Ar.d guid M'Math, 
Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can 
glance. 

May a' pack aflf. 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.* 

O Thou, wLa in the Heavens dost 

dwell, 
Wha, -IS it pleases best thysel', 
Sends ane to Heaven, and ten to Hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for onie guid or ill 

They've done afore thee ! 

* Sir Walter Scott regarded Holy 
Willie's Prayer as "a piece of satire 
more exquisitely severe than any which 
Burns afterwards wrote." The Poet 
assures us that it alarmed " the Kirk- 
Sessions so much, that they had several 
meetings to look over their spiritual 
■artillery." The hero of the poem was a 
farmer, William Fisher, near Mauch- 
line, said to be very pharisaic and 
hypocritical ; one of that class of pro- 
fessors whom Sterne described as mak- 
ing every stride look like a check on 
their desires. Fisher was an elder in 
the kirk, and had offended Burns by 
his persecution of Mr. Hamilton, who 
though tlesslv set a beggar to work in 
his girden on a Sunday morning, and 
Wis i iL onimunicated in consequence. 



2S* 

I bless and praise thy matchless, might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night, 
That I am here afore thy sight. 

For gifts an' grace, 
A burning an' a shining light. 

To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation. 
That I should get such exaltation ? 
I, wha deserve such just damnation. 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation. 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plung'd me into Hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin' lake. 
Where damned Devils roar and yell, 

Chain'd to a stake. 

Yet T am here a chosen sample, 

To show thy grace is great and ample ; 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an example 

To a' thy flock. 

O L — d, thou kens what zeal I bear, 
When drinkers drink, and swearort 

swear. 
And singin there, and dancing here, 

Wi' great an' sma' ; 
For I am keepit by thy fear, 

Free frae them a'. 

But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust, 
An' sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust,— 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 

O L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg— 

Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 

O ! may 't ne'er be a livin' plague 

To my dishonour. 
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 

Besides I farther maun allow , 

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow , 

But, L — d, that Friday I was fou. 

When F came near her, 
Or else thou kens thy servant true 

V f^ad ne'er hae steer'd h«f 



»52 



WORKS OF BURNS, 



May be thou lets this fleshly thorn 
Beset thy servant e'en and morn. 
Lest he owre high and proud should 
turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted ; 
If sae, thy hand maun e'en be borne, 
Until thou lift it. 

L — d, bless thy chosen in this place, 
For here thou hast a chosen race ; 
But G — d confound their stubborn face, 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace. 

An' p iblic shame. 

l^ — d, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts. 
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at 

cartes. 
Yet has sae monie takin arts, 

Wi' great an' sma', 
Frae God's ain priests the people's 
hearts 

He steals awa'. 

An' when we chasten'd him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, ' 
-Vs set the warld in a roar 

O' laugh in' at us ; — 
Curse thou his basket and his store. 

Kail and potatoes. 

L^-d, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r. 
Against that presbyt'ry o' Ajt ; 
Thy strong right hand, L — d, make it 
bare, 

Upo' their heads ; 
L — d, weigh it down, and dinna spare. 

For their misdeeds. 

O L — d my G — d, that glib-tongu'd 

Aiken, 
My very heart and saul are quakin, 
I'o think how we stood sweatin, shakin, 

An' swat wi' dread. 
While he wi' hinging lips gaed snakin, 
And hid his head. 

L- -d, in the day of vengeance try him : 
L — d, visit them wha did employ him, 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em. 

Nor hear their pray'r : 
Dut, for thy people's sake, destroy 'em, 

And dinna spare. 



But, L — d, lemember me and mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shme, 

Excell'd by nane. 
An' a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen.^ 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 



Here Holy Willie's sair worn cl?y 

Takv iij) its last abode ; 
His saul ha.- taen some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as sui ;'s a gun. 

Poor silly body, see hn i ; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the gnin 

( )bserve wha's standing wi' him. 

N'oiir brunstane devilship, I see, 
Has got him there before ye ; 

But hand your nine-tail cat a-wee. 
Till ance you've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has glen him o'er. 

And mercy's day is gane. 

But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, 
Look something to your credit ; 

A coof like him wad stain your name. 
If it were kent ye did it. 



^ Against some passages it has been 
objected that they breathe a spirit of 
irreligion. But if we consider the ig- 
norance and fanaticism of the lower 
class of people when these poems were 
written, a fanaticism of that pernicious 
sort which sets faith in opposition to 
good -works, the fallacy and danger of 
which a mind so enlightened as our 
poet's could not but perceive, we shall 
not look upon his lighter Muse as the 
enemy of religion, though she has some- 
times been a little unguarded in nei 
ridicule of h\TJOcrisy. — H. Maikc7izie. 
—(The " Lo'imger," No. 97.) 



EPIGRAMS, &'c. 



«5-. 



U^ES WRITTEN EXTEMPORE 
IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK. 

Grant mc, indulgent Heav'a, that I 

may live, 
To see the miscreants feel the pains 

they give ; 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasu -es free 

as air, 
Till slave and despot be but things 

which W(ire. 



VERSES ADDRESSED TO 
J. RANKINE. 

I AM a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, although not a'. 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way or ither, 
The breaking of ae point, tho' sma', 

Breaks a' thegither. 

I hae been it. for't ance or twice, 
And winna say owre far for thrice, 
Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest, 
But now a rumour's like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



ON SCARING SOME WATER 
FOWL IN LOCH-TURIT, A 
WILD SCENE AMONG THE 
HILLS OF OCHTERTYRE. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For rae your wat'ry haunt forsake? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — 
Common friend to you and me. 
Nature's gifts to all are free ; 
Peaceful keep your dimpluig wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock. 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 



Conscious, bluL^.ing for our racs. 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace ; 
Man, your proud, usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below ; 
Plumes himSL-lf in Freedom's pride. 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow. 
Marking you his prey below. 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong Necessity compels. 
But Man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains. 
Only known to wandering swains. 
Where the mossy riv'let strays. 
Far from human haunts and ways, 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn ; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings. 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



A TOAST.^ 



Inste.ad of a Song, boys, I'll give you 

a Toast, — 
Here's the memory of those on the 

twelfth that we lost : 
That we lost, did I say? nay, by 

Heav'n, that we found ; 
For their fame it shall last while the 

world goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you 

the King, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high 

may he swing ! 
And here's the grand fabric, our free 

Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Revo- 
lution. 

' Given on occasion of the celebra- 
tion of the naval victory, April 12, 178a 



854 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



And, longer with Politics not to be 

cramm'd, 
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny 

d — 'd ; 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove 

disloyal, 
Maj his son be a hangman, and he his 

fi] St uial ! 



EPIGRAM. 

0n6. Queen Artemisia, as old stories 

tell, 
When depriv'd of her husband she loved 

so well. 
In respect for the love and aflFection 

he'd shown her. 
She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank 

up the powder. 

But Queen N-therplace, of a diffrent 

complexion, 
\N'Tien call'd on to order the fun'ral 

direction, 
Would have eat her dear lord, on a 

slender pretence. 
Not to show her respect, but — to save 

the expense. 



ANOTHER.* 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case. 
Unless he come to wait upon 

The Lord their God, liis Grace.^ 

There's naething here but Highland 
pride. 

And Highland scab and hunger ; 
If Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in an anger. 



CN SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL 
SEAT OF LORD GALLOWAY. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair ? 
Flit, Galloway, and find 

* Written at Invcrary. 
' The Duke of Argyll, 



Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave^ 
The picture of thy mind ! 



ON THE SAME. 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
The Stewarts all were brave ; 

Besides, the Stewarts were but fools. 
Not one of them a knave. 



ON THE SAME.^ 

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, 
Thro' many a far-fam'd sire ! 

So ran the far-fam'd Roman way, 
So ended in a mire ! 



TO THE SAME, 

ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED 
WITH HIS RESENTMENT. 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

In quiet let me live : 
1 ask no kindness at thy hand. 

For thou hast none to give. 



VERSES TO J. RANKINE. 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl. 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie^ motley squad. 
And monie a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station. 
From him that wears the star and garter. 
To him that wintles^ in a halter ; 
Ashamd himsel to see the wretches. 
He mutters, glowrin at the b s, 



* These were some of the satiiicaf 
fruits of the Heron conteat. 
^ Confusedly mixed. ^ Staggers. 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, &»€ 



** By G — I'll not be seen behint them, 
Nor 'mang tlie sp'ritual core present 

theni, 
Without, at lea.n, ae honest man. 
To grace this d- -d infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
"L — G— !" quoth he, "I have it 

now, 
There's just the man I want, i' faith," 
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. 



EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFU- 

SION, ON BEING APPOINTED 
TO THE EXCISE. 

Searching auld wives' barrels, 

Och, hon ! the day ! 
That clartie^ barm should stain my 
laurels ; 
But— what'll ye say ? 
These movin' things, ca'd wives and 

weans. 
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes ! 



ON HEARING THAT THERE 
WAS FALSEHOOD IN THE 
REV. DR. B 'S VERY LOOKS. 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny : 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 



POVERTY. 

In politics if thou wouldst mix, 
And mean thy fortunes be ; 

B ;ar this in mind, — be deaf 
blind; 
Let great folks hear and see. 



and 




ON A SCHOOLMASTER lis 
CLEISH PARISH, FIFESHIRE. 

Here lie Willie Michie's banes ; 

O Satan, when ye tak him, 
Gie him the schoolin' o' your weans. 

For clever Deils he'll mak them ! 



LINES 



WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MMS. 
KEMBLE, ON SEEING HER IN THB 
CHARACTER OF VARICO. 

Dumfries Theatre, 1794, 

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbeliif 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 

The rock with tears had flow'd. 



I MURDER hate by field or flood, 
Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 

In wars at hame I'll spend my blood. 
Life-giving war to Venus, 

The deities that I adore 

Are social Peace and Plenty ; 

I'm better pleased to make one more. 
Than be the death of twenty. 



LINES 



WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT 
THE king's arms TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this 
sneering 

'Gainst poor Excisemen ? give the cause 
a hearing ; 

What are your landlords' rent rolls ? tax- 
ing ledgers : 

What premiers, what ? even Monarch's 
mighty gangers : 

Nay, what are priests, those seeming 
godly wise men? 

What are they, pray, but spiritual Ex 
cisemen ? 



•S6 



WORKS OF BURNS. 



LINES 

WRITTEN ON THE WINDOW OF THE 
GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

The greybeard, Old Wisdom, may 
boast of his treasures, 
Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him his calm-blooded, time- 
settled pleasures. 
But Folly has raptures to give- 



LINES 



WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE 
CELEBRATED MISS BURNS. 

Cfasb, ye. prudes, your envious railing. 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess : 

True it is, she had one failing, 
Had a woman ever less ? 



EPIGRAM 

ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF 

Martial's epigrams. 

O THOU, whom Poetry abhors, 
NVhom Prose had turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan ? — proceed no 

further, 
Twas laurel'd Martial roaring murder. 



EPITAPH 



0» A COUNTRY LAIRD, NOT QUITE SO 
WISE AS SOLOMON. 

El ess the Redeemer, O Cardoness, 

With grateful lifted eyes, 
Who said that not the soul alone. 

But body, too, must rise : 

For had He said, "The soul alone 
From death I will deliver," 

Alas ! alas ! O Cardoness, 
Then thou hadst slept for ever ! 



EPITAPH 

ON WEE JOHNNY.* 

Hie jacet wee Johnny. 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know 
That death has murderM johnny! 

An' here his body lies fu' low 

For saul he ne'er had ony. 



EPITAPH 

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. 

Here sowter^ Hood in Death d{< 
sleep ; 

To h — 1, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep. 

He'll haud it weel thegither. 



EPITAPH 

FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd 

name ! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 



EPITAPH 

FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

The poor man weeps — here Gavin 
sleeps, 

AVhoin canting wretches blam'd : 
But with such as he, where'er he be. 

May I be savd, or d — 'd ! 



EPITAPH ON MY FATHER. 

O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity 
stains. 
Draw near with pious rev'rence and 
attend ! 

' John Wilson, who printed an edition 
of Burns's Poems. ^ Shoemaker. 



EPITAPHS. 



aS7 



Kcre lie the loving husband's dear re- 
mains, 
The tender father, and the gen'rous 
friend ; 

i he pitying heart that felt for human 
woe ; 
The dauntless heart that fear'd no 
human pride ; 
'jTie friend of man, to vice alone a foe, 
" For ev'n his failings lean'd to vir- 
tue's side." 



EPITAPH 

>'«J JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER, MAUCH- 
LINE. 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon ; 

J\'hat was his religion ? 

Wha e'er desires to ken, 

' To some other warl' 

Alaun follow the carl, 

iFor here Johnny Pidgeon had nane ! 

I krong ale was ablution, 
JImall beer persecution, 
J I dram was memento mori ; 
Wut a full flowing bowl 
I S^as the saving his soul. 
And port was celestial glory. 



EPITAPH 



ON JOHN BUSHBV,^ WRITER, IN 
DUMFRIES. 

H SRE lies John Bushby, honest man, 
CI eat him. Devil, if you can. 

•^ " Went to the churchyard where 
Burns is buried. A bookseller accom- 
paiied us. Went on to visit the grave. 
•Ihere,' said the bookseller to us, 

fwfjiting to a pompous monument a 
ew yards off, ' there lies Mr. John 
Bushby, a remarkably clever man ; he 
was an attorney, and hardly ever lost 
a cause he undertook. Burns made 
many a lampoon upon him, and there 
they rest, as you see.' " — Memoirs of 
Wor(Lw(*rth, i. 214. 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 
Is there a whim-inspired fool, 
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 
Owre blate ' to seek, owre proud to 
snool,^ 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool. 

And drap a tear. 
Is there a Bard of rustic song. 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 
That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here, heave a sigh. 
Is there a man whose judgment clear,3 
Can others teach the course to steer. 
Yet runs, h.mself, life's mad career 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear. 

Survey this grave. 
The poor Inhabitant below 
Was quick to learn, and wise to know. 
And keenly felt the friendly glow. 

And softer flame ; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name ! 
Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 

' Bashful. ' Submit tamely. 

3 Burns might have remembered ( 
Goldsmith's picture of an author : — A I 
child oi the public he is in all respects ; > 
for while he is so able to direct others, 
how incapable is he frequently found 
of guiding himself ! His simplicity ex- 
poses him to all the insidious approaches 
of cunning ; his sensibility to the 
slightest invasions of contempt. I'hough 
possessed of fortitude to stand un- 
moved the expected bursts of an earth- 
quake, yet of feelings so exquisitely 
poignant, as to agonize imder the 
slightest disappointment. — The Present 
State of Polite Learning, chapter X. 



GLOSSARY. 



The ch and gh have al\»ays the guttural sound. The sound of the Ei {jlish diph- 
thong ooy is commonly spelled 07i. The French «, a sound which often occurs 
in the Scottish language, is marked oo, or ui. The a in genuine Scottish words, 
except when forming a diphthong, or followed by an e mute after a single conson- 
ant, sounds generally like the broad English a in wall. The Scottish diphthong 
ae always, and ea very often, sound Uke the French e masculine. The Scottish 
diphthong ey sounds like the Latin ei. 



A', All 

Aback, away, aloof 

Abeigh, at a shy distance 

Aboon, above, up 

Abread, abroad, in sight 

Abreed, in breadth 

Addle, putrid water, &c. 

Ae, one 

Aff, off; Aifloof, unpremeditated 

Afore, before 

Aft, oft 

Aften, often 

Agley, off the right line ; wrong 

Aiblins, perhaps 

Ain, own 

Airle-penny, Airles, earnest money 

Airn, iron 

Aith, an oath 

Aits, oats 

Aiver, an old horse 

Aizle, a hot cinder 

Alake, alas 

Alane, alone 



Akwart, awkwaid 

Amaist, almost 

Amang, among 

An', and ; if 

Ance, once 

Ane, one ; and 

Anent, over again t 

Anither, another 

Ase, ashes 

Asklent, asquint ; aslant 

Asteer, abro \d ; stirnng 

Athart, athwart 

Aught, possession ; as, In a' my aiighi, 

in all my possession 
Auld lang syne, olden time, days ol 

other years 
Auld, old 
Auldfarran, or, auld farrant, sagacicvs, 

cunnmg, prudent 
Ava, at al. 
Awa', away 
Awfu' awfiJ 
Awn, the beard of barley, oat«, &o 



GLOSSARY. 859 


A^vnie, bearded 


Beuk, a book 


Ayont, b'^yond 


Bicker, a kind of wooden dish ; a short 


BA', Ball 


race 
Bie, or Bleld, shelter 


Backets, ash boards 


Bien, wealthy, nJ^ntiful 


Backlins, coming; commg back, re- 


Big, to build 


turning 


Biggin, building ; a house 


Back, returning 


Biggit, built 


Bad, did bid 


Bill, a bull 


Baide, endured, did stay 


Billie, a brother ; a young fellow 


Paggie, the belly 


Bing, a heap of grain, potatoes, &c. 


Bainie, having large bones, stout 


Birk, birch 


?airri, a child 


Birken-shaw, Birchen-wood-shaw, a 


fairr,time, a family of children, a 


small wood 


breed 


Birkie, a clever fellow 


Haith, both 


Birring, the noise of partridges, &c., 


Ban, to swear 


when they spring 


Rane, bone 


Bit, crisis, nick of time 


Bang, to beat ; to strive 


Bizz, a bustle, to buzz 


Bardie, diminutive of bard 


Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf ; a term of 


Barefit, barefooted 


contempt 


Barmie, of or like barm 


Blastit, blasted 


Batch, a crew, a gang 


Blate, bashful, sheepish 


Batts, bots 


Blather, bladder 


Baudrons, a cat 


Bladd, a flat piece of anything ; to slap 


Bauld, bold 


Blaw, to blow, to boast 


Bawk, bank 


Bleerit, bleared, sore with rheum 


Baw&'nt, having a white stripe down 


Bleert and blin , bleared and blind 


tho face 


Bleezing, blazing 


Be, to let be ; to give over ; to cease 


Elellum, an idle talking fellow 


Bear, barley 


Blether, to talk idly ; nonsense 


Beastie, diminutive of beast 


Bleth'rin', talking idly 


Beet, to add fuel to fire 


Blink, a little while; a smiling look; 


Beld, bald 


to look kindly ; to shine by fits 


Belyve, by and by 


Blinker, a term of contempt 


Ben, into the spence or parlour; a 


Blinkin, smirking 


spence 


Blue-gown, one of those beggars who 


Bf nbmond, a noted mountain in Dum- 


get annually, on the King's birth-day. 


bartonshire 


a blue cloak or gown, with a badgtf 


Bethankit, grace after meat 


Bluid, blood 

f a 



<€o 



GLOSSARY. 



Bluntie, a sniveller, a stupid person 
Blype, a shred, a large piece 
Bock, to vomit, to gush intermittently 
Bocked, gushed, vomited 
Bodle, a small gold coin 
Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins 
Bonnie, or bonny, handsome, beautiful 
Bonnock, a kind of thick cake of bread, 
a small jannock, or loaf made of oat- 
meal 
Boord, a board 

Boortree, the shrub elder ; planted 
much of old in hedges of barn-yards, 
&c. 
Boost, behaved, must needs 
Bore, a hole in the wall 
Botch, an angry tumour 

Bousing, drinking 

Bow-kail, cabbage 

Bowt, bended, crooked 

Brackens, fern 

Brae, a declivity ; a precipice ; the 
slope of a hill 

Braid, broad 

Braindg't, reeled forward 

Braik, a kind of harrow 

Braindge, to run rashly forward 

Brak, broke, made insolvent 

Branks, a kind of wooden curb for 
horses 

Brash, a sudden illness 

Brats, coarse clothes, rags, &c-. 

Brattle, a short race ; hurry ; fury 

Braw, fine, handsome 

Brawly, or brawlie, very well ; finely ; 
heartily 

Braxie, a morbid sheep 

Breastis, diminutive of breast 

Breastit, did spring up or forward 

Breckan, fern 



Breef, an invulnerable or irresistible 

spell 
Breeks, breeches 
Brent, smooth 
Brewin', brewing 

Brie, juice, liquid 

Brig, a bridge 

Brisket, the breast, the bosom 

Brither, a brother 

Brock, a badger 

Brogue, a hum ; a trick 

Broo, broth ; a trick 

Broose, broth ; a race at country wed 
dings, who shall first reach the bride- 
groom's house on returning from 
church 

Browster-wives, ale-house wives 

Brugh, a burgh 

Bruilzie, a broil, a combustion 

Brunstane, brimstone 

Brunt, did bum, burnt 

Brust, to burst ; burst 

Buchan-bullers, the boiling of the se» 
among the rocks of Buchan 

Buckskin, an inhabitant of Virginia 

Bught, a pen 

Bughtin-time, the time of co'lectinf 
the sheep in the pens to be milked 

Buirdly, stout made ; broad made 

Bum-clock, a humming beetle that fiiei 
in the summer evenings 

Bumming, humming as bees 

Bummle, to blunder 

Bummler, a blunderer 

Bunker, a window-seat 

Burdies, diminutive of birds 

Bure, did bear 

Bum, water, a rivulet 

Burnewin, i.e., burn the wind, a bla ,fc 
smith 



GLOSSARY. 



i6i 



Bunile, cHiiinutive of bum 

Buskie, bushy 

Buskit, dressed 

Busks, dresses 

Buss, shelter 

Bussle, a bustle ; to bustle 

Rutj bot, with ; without 

But an' ben, the country kitchen and 

parlour 
By himsel, lunatic, distracted 
Byke, a bee-hive 
Byre, a cow-stable ; a sheep-pen 

CA', to call, to name ; to drive 

Ca't, or ca'd, called, driven ; calved 

Cadger, a carrier 

Cadie, or Caddie, a person ; a young 
fellow 

Caff, chaff 

Caird, a tinker 

Cairn, a loose heap of stones 

Calf-ward, a small enclosure for calves 

Callan, a boy 

Caller, fresh ; sound ; refreshing 

Canie, or cannie, gentle, mild ; dex- 
terous 

Cannilie, dexterously ; gently 

Cantie, or canty, cheerful, merry 

Cantraip, a charm, a spell 

Cape-stane, cope-stone ; key-stone 

Careerin, cheerfully 

Carl, an old man 

Carlin, an old stout woman 

Cartes, cards 

Caudron, a cauldron 

Cauld, cold 

Caulk and keel, chalk and red clay 

Caup, a wooden drinking-vessel 

Cesses, taxes 

Chanter, a part cf a bagpipe 



Chap, a person, a fellow ; a blow 

Chaup, a stroke, a blow 

Cheekit, checked 

Cheep, a chirp ; to chirp 

Chiel, or cheel, a young fellow 

Chimla, or chimlie, a nre-grate, a fire- 
place 

Chimla-Iug, the fireside 

Chittering, shivering, trembling 

Chockin, choking 

Chow, to chew ; Cheek for chow, side 
by side 

Chuffie, fat-faced 

Clachan, a small village about a church ; 
a hamlet 

Claise, or claes, clothes 

Claith, cloth 

Claithing, clothing 

Claivers, nonsense ; not speaking sense 

Clap, clapper of a mill 

Clarkit, wrote 

Clash, an idle tale, the story of the day 

Clatter, to tell idle stories; an idle 
story 

Claught, snatched at, laid hold of 

Claut, to clean ; to scrape 

Clauted, scraped 

Clavers, idle stories 

Claw, to scratch 

Cleed, to clothe 

Cleeds, clothes 

Cleekit, having caught 

Clinkin, jerking ; clinking 

CHnkumbell, he who rings the churcb 
bell 

Clips, shears 

Clishmaclaver, idle conversation 

Clock, to hatch ; a beetle 

Clockin, hatching 

Cloot, the hoof of a cow, sheep^ &g 



262 



GLOSSARY. 



Clootie, an old name for the Devil 

Clour, a bump or swelling after a blow 

Cluds, clouds 

Coaxin, wheedling 

Coble, a fishing boat 

Cockemony, a lock of hair tied upon a 
girl's head ; a cap 

Coft, bought 

Cog, a wooden dish 

Coggie, diminutive of cog 

Coila, from Kyle, a district of Ayr- 
shire ; so called, saith tradition, from 
Coil, or Coilus, a Pictish monarch 

Collie, a general and sometimes a par- 
ticular name for country curs 

Collieshangie, quarrelling, an uproar 

Commaun, command 

Cood, the cud 

Coof, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cookit, appeared and disappeared by 
fits 

Coost, did cast 

Coot, the ancle or foot 

Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish : — also, 
those fowls whose legs are clad with 
feathers are said to be cootie 

Corbies, a species of the crc-w 

Core, corps ; party ; clan 

Corn't, fed with oats 

Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot-house, 
or cottager 

Couthie, kind, loving 

Cove, a cave 

Cowe, to terrify; to keep under, to 
lop; fright; a branch of furze, 
broom, &c. 

Cowp, to barter ; to tumble over ; a 
gang 

Cowplt, tumbled 

Cowrin, cowering 



Cowt, a colt 

Cozie, snug 

Cozily, snugly 

Crabbit, crabbed, fretful 

Crack, conversation ; to converse 

Crackin, conversing 

Craft, or croft, a field near a house ''m 

old husbandry) 
Craiks, cries or calls incessantly ; a bird 
Crambo-clink, or crambo-j ingle. 1 h ymes, 

doggrel verses 
Crank, the noise of an ungreased 

wheel 
Crankous, fretful, captious 
Cranreuch, the hoar frost 
Crap, a crop ; to crop 
Craw, a crow of a cock ; a rook 
Creel, a basket ; to have one's wits in 

a creel, to be crazed ; to be fascin- 
ated 
Creepie-stool, the same as cutty-stool 
Creeshie, greasy 

Crood, or croud, to coo as a dove 
Croon, a hollow and continued moan ; 

to make a noise like the continued 

roar of a bull ; to hum a tune 
Crooning, humming 
Crouchie, crook-backed 
Crouse, cheerful ; courageous 
Crousely, cheerfully ; courageously 
Crowdie, a composition of oatmeal and 

boiled water, sometimes from the 

broth of beef, mutton, &c. 
Crowdie-time, breakfast-time 
Crowlin, crawling 

Crummock, a cow with crooked horns 
Crump, hard and brittle ; spoken of 

bread 
Crunt, a blow on the head with a 

cudgel 



GLOSS ARV. 26:1 


Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny 


Dight, to wipe ; to clean corn from 


Cummock, a short staff with a crooked 


chaff 


head 


Dight, cleaned from chatt 


Curchie, a ct urtesy 


Ding, to worst, to push 


Curler, a player at a game on the ice, 


Dink, neat, tidy, trim 


practised in Scotland, called curling 


Dinna, do not 


Curlie, curled, whose hair falls natur- 


Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke or pain 


ally in ringlets 


Dizen, or dizz'n, a dozen 


Curling, a well-known game on the ice 


Doited, stupified, hebetated 


Curmurring, murmuring ; a slight rum- 


Dolt, stupified, crazed 


bling noise 


Donsie, unlucky 


Curpin, the crupper 


Dool, sorrow ; to sing dool, to lament, 


Cushat the dove, or wood-pigeon 


to mourn 


Cutty, short; a spoon broken in the 


Doos, doves 


middle 


Dorty, saucy, nice 


Cutty-stool, the stool of repentance 


Douce, or douse, sober, wise, prudent 




Doucely, soberly, prudently 


DADDTE, a father 


Dought, was or were able 


Daffin, merriment ; foolishness 


Doup, backside 


Daft, merry, giddy ; foolish 


Doup-skelper, one that strikes the tail 


Daimen, rare, now and then ; daimen- 


Dour and din, sullen and sallow 


icker, an ear of corn now and then 


Doure, stout, durable ; sullen, stubborn 


Dainty, pleasant, good humoured, 


Dow, am or are able, can 


agreeable 


Dowff, pithless, wanting force 


Daise, daez, to stupify 


Dowie, worn with grief, fatigue, &c.. 


Dales, plains, valleys 


half asleep 


Darklins, darkling 


Downa, am or are not able, cannot 


Daud, to thrash, to abuse 


Doylt, stupid 


Daur, to dare 


Dozent, stupified, impotent 


Daurg, or daurk, a day's labour 


Drap, a drop ; to drop 


Daurt, dared 


Draigle, to soil by trailing, to draggia 


Davoc, David 


among wet, &c. 


Dawd, a large piece 


Drapping, dropping 


Dawtit, or dawtet, fondled, caressed 


Draunting, drawling ; of a slow enun- 


Dearies, diminutive of dears 


ciation 


Dcarthfu', dear 


Dreep, to ooze, to drop 


Deave, to deafen 


Dreigh, tedious, long about it 


Deil-ma-care ! no matter ! for all that ! 


Dribble, drizzling ; slaver 


Deleerit, delirious 


Drift, a drove 


Descrive. to describe 


Droddum, the breech 



«64 



GLOSS A A V, 



Drone, pait of a bas:pipe 

Droop-rumpl't, that drops at the crup- 
per 

Droukit, wet 

Drounting, drawling 

Drouth, thirst, drought 

Drucken, drunken 

Drumly, muddy 

Drummock, meal and water mixed in 
a raw state 

Drunt, pet, sour humour 

Dub, a small pond 

Duds, rags, clothes 

Duddie, ragged 

Dung, worsted; pushed, driven 

Dunted, beaten, boxed 

Dush, to push as a ram, &c. 

Dusht, pushed by a ram, ox, &c. 

E'E, the eye 

Een, the eyes 

E'ening, evening 

Eerie, frighted, dreading spirits 

Eild, old age 

Elbuck, the elbow 

Eldritch, ghastly, frightful 

Eller, an elder, or church officer 

En', end 

Enbrugh, Edinburgh 

Eneugh, enough 

Especial, especially 

Ettle, to try, to attempt 

Eydent, diligent 

FA', fall ; lot ; to fall 

Fa's, does fall ; water-falls 

Faddom't, fathomed 

Fae, a foe 

Faem, foam 

Faiket, unknown 

Fairin, a fairing ; a present 



Fallow, fellow 

Fand, did find 

Farl, a cake oi oaten >~ad, &c. 

Fash, trouble, care ; to trouble, to \'M9 
for 

Fasht, troubled 

Fasteren-e'en, Fasten's Even 

Fauld, a fold ; to fold 

Faulding, folding 

Faut, fault 

Faute, want, lack 

Fawsont, decent, seemly 

Feal, a field ; smooth 

Fearfu', frightful 

Feart, frighted 

Feat, neat, spruce 

Fecht, to fight 

Fechtin, fighting 

Feck, many, plenty 

Fecket, an under waistcoat with sleeves 

Feckfu', large, brawny, stout 

Feckless, puny, weak, silly 

Feckly, weakly 

Feg, a fig 

Feide, feud, enmity 

Feirrie, stout, vigorous, healthy 

Fell, keen, biting ; the flesh immedi- 
ately under the skin ; a field pretty 
level, on the side or top of a hill 

Fen, successful struggle ; fight 

Fend, to live comfortably 

Ferlie, or ferley, to wonder ; a wonder : 
a term of contempt 

Fetch, to pull by fits 

Fetch'd, pulled intermittently 

Fidge, to fidget 

Fiel, soft, smooth 

Fient, fiend, a petty oath 

Fier, sound, healthy ; a brother ; a 
friend 



GLOSSARY. 26\ 


fv.-ile, to make a rustling coise ; to 


Fou, full ; drunk 


fidget ; a bustle 


Foughten, troubled, harassed 


Fit, a foot 


Fouth, plenty, enough, or more than 


f ittie-lan', the nearer horse of the hind- 


enough 


most pair in the plough 


Fow, a bushel, &c ; also a pitch-fork 


Fizz, to make a hissing noise, like fer- 


Frae, from ; oflf 


mentation 


Frammit, strange, estranged from, at 


I lainen, flannel 


enmity with 


1 leech, to supplicate in a flattering 


Fraeth, froth 


manner 


Frien', friend 


Flecch'd, supplicated 


Fu', full 


Fleechin, supplicating 


Fud, the scut, or tail of the hare. 


Fleesh, a fleece 


cony, &c. 


Fleg, a kick, a random stroke 


Fuff, to blow intermittently 


Flether, to decoy by fair words 


FufTt, did blow 


Fletherin, flattering 


Funuie, full of merriment 


Flev, to scare, to frigKten 


Fur, a furrow 


Flichter, to flutter, as young nestlings 


Furm, a form, bench 


when their dam approaches 


Fyke, trifling cares ; to piddle, to be 


Flinders, shreds, broken pieces, splint- 


in a fuss about trifles 


ers 


Fyle, to soil, dirty 


?lingin£:-tree, a piece of timber hung 


Fyl't, soiled, dirtied 


by way of partition between two 




horses in a stable ; a flail 


GAB, the mouth ; to speak boldly, or 


Flisk, to fret at the yoke 


pertly 


Flisket, fretted 


Gaberlunzie, an old man 


Flitter, to vibrate like the wings of 


Gadsman, a ploughboy, the boy that 


small birds 


drives the horses in the plough 


Flittering, fluttering, vibratmg 


Gae, to go ; gaed, went ; gaen, or gane. 


Flunkie, a servant in livery 


gone ; gaun, going 


Fodgel, squat and plump 


Gaet, or gate, way, manner; road 


Foord, a ford 


Gairs, triangular pieces of cloth sewed 


Forbears, forefathers 


on the bottom of a gown, &c. 


Forbye, besides 


Gang, to go, to walk 


Forfa^rn, distressed ; worn out, jaded 


Gar, to make, to force to 


Forfoughten, fatigued 


Gar't, forced to 


Forgather, to meet, to encounter with 


Garten, a garter 


Forgie, to forgive 


Gash, wise, sagacious; talkative; t« 


Forjeskst, jaded with fatigue 


converse 



Futher, fodder 



Gashin, conversing 



■66 GLOSSARY. 


Gaucy, jolly, large 


Glinted, peeped 


Gaud, a plough 


Glintin, peeping 


Gear, riches ; goods of any kind 


Gloaniin, the twilight 


Geek, to toss the head in want mness 


Glowr, to stare, to look ; a staj-e, • 


or scorn 


look 


Ged, a pike 


Glowred, looked, stared 


Gentles, great folks, gentry 


Glunsh, a frown, a sour look 


Genty, elegantly formed, neat 


Goavan, looking round with a strange, 


Geordie, a guinea 


inquiring gaze ; staring stupidly 


Get, a child, a young one 


Gowan, the flower of the wild daisy, 


Ghaist, a ghost 


hawkweed, &c. 


Gie, to give ; gicd, gave ; gien, given 


Gowany, daisied, abounding with dai- 


Giftie, diminutive of gift 


sies 


Giglets, playful girls 


Gowd, gold 


Gillie, diminutive of gill 


Gowff, the game of golf ; to strike aa 


Gilpey, a half grown, half informed 


the bat does the ball at golf 


boy or girl, a romping lad, a hoiden 


Gowff'd, struck 


Gimmer, a ewe from one to two years 


Gowk, a cuckoo : a term of contempt 


old 


Gowl, to howl 


Gin, if; against 


Grane, or grain, a groan ; to groan 


Gipsy, a young girl 


Grain'd and grunted, groaned and 


Girn, to grin, to twist the features in 


grunted 


rage, agony, &c. 


Graining, groaning 


Girning, grinning 


Graip, a pronged instrument for clean- 


G\zz, a periwig 


ing stables 


Glaiket, inattentive, foolish 


Graith, accoutrements, furniture, dress. 


Glaive, a sword 


gear 


Gawky, half-witted, foolish, romping 


Grannie, grandmother 


Glaizie, glittering ; smooth like glass 


Grape, to grope 


Glaum, to snatch greedily 


Graipit, groped 


Glaum'd, aimed, snatched 


Grat, wept, shed tears 


Gleck, sharp, ready 


Great, intimate, familiar 


Gleg, sharp, ready 


Gree, to agree ; to bear the gree, to be 


Gleib, glebe 


decidedly victor 


Glen, a dale, a deep valley 


Gree't, agreed 


Gley, a squint ; to squint ; a-gley, off 


Greet, to shed tears, to weep 


at side, wrong 


Greetin, crying, weeping 


Glib-gabbet, smooth and ready in 


Grippet, catched, seized 


speich 


Groat, to get the whistle of one's groat, 


Glint, to peep 


to play a losing game 



GLOSS AR V. 



«ftf 



Grousome, loatV^omely grim 

GiOzct, a gooseberry 

Gmmph, a grunt ; to grunt 

Grumphie, a sow 

Grun', ground 

Grunstane, a grindstone 

Gruntle, the phiz ; a grunting noise 

Gninzie, mouth 

Grushie, thick ; of thriving growth 

Gude, the Supreme Being ; good 

Guid, good 

Guid morning, good morrow 

Gu'Q-o'en, good evening 

Guidfather, guidmother, father-in-law 
and mother-in-law 

Guidman and guidwife, the master and 
mistress of the house ; young guid- 
man, a man newly married 

Guid-willie, liberal ; cordial 

Gully, or gullie, a large knife 

Gumlie, mi'ddy 

Gusty, tasteful 

HA', hall 

Ha'-Bible, the great Bible that lies in 
the hall 

Hae, to have 

Haen, had, the participle 

Haet, ficnt haet, a petty oath of nega- 
tion ; nothing 

Haffet, the temple, the side of the 
head 

Hafflins, neatly half, partly 

Hag, a scar, or gulf in mosses and 
moors 

Haggis, a kind of pudding boiled in 
the stomach of a cow Of sheep 

Hain, to spare, to save 

Imain'd, spared 

Hairst, harvest 



Haith, a petty oath 

Haivers, nonsense, speaking without 

thought 
Hal', or hald, an abiding-place 
Hale, whole, tight, healthy 
Hallun, a particular partition-wall in 
a cottage, or more properly a seat of 
turf at the outside 
Hallowmass, Hallow-eve, the 31st Oi 

October 
Haly, holy 
Hame, home 
Hamely, homely, affable 
Han', or haun', hand 
Hap, an outer garment, mantle, plaid, 

&c., to wrap, to cover; to hop 
Happer, a hopper 
Happing, hopping 

Hap step an' loup, hop skip and leap 
Harkit, hearkened 
Ham, very coarse linen 
Hash, a fellow that neither knows Jiow 

to dress nor act with propriety 
Hastie, dry ; chapped ; barren 
Hastit, hastened 
Hand, to hold 

Haughs, low lying, rich lands; valley* 
Haurl, to drag, to peel 
Hauriin, peeling 

Haverel, a half-witted person ; half- 
witted 
Havins, good manners, decorum, good 

sense 
Hawkie, a cow, properly one with a 

white face 
Heapit, heaped 

Healsome, healthful, wholes jme 
Hearse, hoarse 
Hear't, hear it 
Heather, heath 



a68 



GLOSSARY. 



Hfv«b ; oh! strange! 

Hecht, promised ; to foretell something 
that is to be got or given ; foretold ; 
the thing foretold ", offered 

Heckle, a board in which are fixed a 
number of sharp pins, us'^d in dress- 
ing hemp, flax, &c. 

Heeze, to elevate, to raise 

Helm, the rudder or helm 

Herd, to tend flocks ; one who tends 
flocks 

Herrin, a herring 

Herry, to plunder; most properly to 
plunder birds* nests 

Herryment, plundering, d . /astation 

Hersel, herself; also a herd of cattle 
of any sort 

Het, hot 

Heugh, a craig, a coalpit 

Hilch, a hobble ; to halt 

Hilchin, halting 

Himsel, himself 

Hiney, honey 

Hing, to hang 

Hirple, to walk crazily, to creep 

Hissel, so many cattle as one person 
can attend 

Hitch, a loop, a knot 

Hizzie, a hussy, a young girl 

Hoddin, the motion of a sage coun- 
tryman riding on a cart-horse ; hum- 
ble 

Hog- score, a kind of distance-line, in 
curling, drawn across the rink 

Hog-shouther, a kind of horse-play, by 
justling with the shoulder; to justle 

Hool, outer skin or case, a nut-shell ; 
a peascod 

Hoolie, slowly, leisurely 

Hoolie ! take leisure ! stop I 



Hoord, a hoard ; to hoard 

Hoordit, hoarded 

Horn, a spoon made of horn 

Hornie, one of the many names of i^ 

Devil 
Host, or hoast, to cough; a cough 
Hostin, coughing 
Ho.^ts, coughs 
Hotch'd, turned tops> turvy ; blend? d, 

mixed 
Houghmagandie, fornication 
Houlet, an owl 

Housie, diminutive of a house 
Hove, to heave, to swell 
Hoved, heaved, swelled 
Howdie, a midwife 
Howe, hollow ; a hollow or dell 
Howebackit, sunk in the back, spoken 

of a horse, &c. 
Howff, a tippling house ; a hotise "^ 

resort 
Howk, to dig 
Howkin, digging 
Howkit, digged 
Howlet, an owl 
Hoy, to urge 
Hoy't, urged 
Hoyse, to pull upwards 
Hoyte, to amble crazily 
Hughoc, diminutive of Hugl^ 
Hurcheon, a hedgehog 
Hurdles, the loins ; the crupper 
Hushion, a cushion 

I', in 

Icker, an ear of com 
ler-oe, a great grandchild 
Ilk, or ilka, each, every 
Ill-willie, ill-natured, malicious, niff 
gardly 



GlOSSAJiV. 



Iiigme, giiiiiis, ingenuity 
Ingle, fire ; fire-place 
Ise, I shall or will 
Ither, other ; one another 

/AD, jade ; also & familiar term among 
countryfolks for a giddy young girl 

Jauk, to dally, to trifle 

Jaukin, trifling, dallying 

Jaup, a jerk of water ; to jerk as agi- 
tated water 

Jaw, coarse raillery ; to pour out ; to 
shut; to jerk as water 

Jerkinet, a jerkin, or short gown 

Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl 

[imp, to jump ; slender in the waist ; 
handsome 

J imps, easy stays 

Jink, to dodge, to turn a comer; a 
sudden turning ; a corner 

J inker, that turns quickly; a gay 
sprightly girl ; a wag 

Jinkin, dodging 

Jirk, a jerk 

Jocteleg, a kind of knife 

Jouk, to stoop, to bow the head 

Jow, to jow, a verb which includes 
both the swinging motion and pealing 
sound of a large bell 

Jundie, to justle 

KAE, a daw 

Kail, colewort ; a kind of broth 
Kail -runt, the stem of colewort 
Kain, fowls, &c., paid as rent by a 

farmer 
K '.bbuck, a cheese 
Keckle, to giggle ; to titter 
Keek, a peep ; to peep 
Kelpiei, a sart of mischievous spirits, 



said to haunt fords and ferries al 
nighi especially in storms 

Ken, to know ; kend or kenn'd, knew 

Kennin, a small matter 

Kenspeckle, well known, easily known 

Ket, matted, hairy ; a fleece of wool 

Kilt, to truss up the clothes 

Kimmer, a young girl, a gossip 

Kin, kindred ; kin', kind, adj. 

King's-hood, a certain part of the en- 
trails of an ox, &c. 

Kintra, country 

Kintra cooser, country stallion 

Kirn, the harvest-supper ; a churn 

Kirsen, to christen, or baptize 

Kist, a chest ; a shop counter 

Kitchen, anything that eats with bread; 
to serve for soup, gravy, &c. 

Kith, kindred 

Kittle, to tickle ; ticklish ; lively, apt 

Kittlin, a young cat 

Kiuttle, to uddle 

Kiuttlin, c ildliiig 

Knaggie, tke knags, or points of rocks 

Knap, to strike smartly ; a smart blow 

Knappin-hammer, a hammer for break- 
ing stones 

Knowe, a small round hillock 

Knurl, a dwarf 

Kye, cows 

Kyle, a district in Ayrshire 

Kyte, the belly 

Kythe, to discover ; to show one's self 

LADDIE, diminutive of lad 
Laggen, the angle between the side 

and bottom of a wooden dish 
Laigh, low 
Lairing, wading, and sinking In snow 



9JO 



GLOS. ARY. 



Laith, loath 

Laithfu', bashfiA, slieepish 
Lallans, the Scottish dialect of the 
; English language 

\ Lambie, diminutive of Iamb 
; Laimpit, a kind of shell-fish, a limpet 
' Lan', land ; estate 

Lane, lone ; my lane, thy lane, &c., 

myself alone, &c. 
Lanely, lonely 
Lang, long ; to think lang, to long, to 

weary 
Lap, did leap 
Lave, the rest, the remainder, the 

others 
Laverock, the lark 
Lawin, shot, reckoning, bill 
Lawlan, lowland 
Lea'e, to leave 
Leal, loyal, true, faithful 
Lea-rig, grassy ridge 
Lear (pronounced lare), learning 
Lee-lang, live-long 
Leesome, pleasant 

Leeze-me, a phrase of congratulatory 
endearment ; I am happy ui thee, or 
proud of thee 

l^eister, a three-pronged dart for strik- 
uig fish 

Leugh, did laugh 

Leuk, a look ; to look 

Libbet, gelded 

Lift, the sky 

l^ightly, sneeringly ; to sneer at 

Lilt, a ballad ; a tune ; to sing 

Limmer, a kept mistress, a strumpet 

Limp't, limped, hobbled 

Link, to trip along 

Linkin, tripping 

Li&n, a waterfall ; a precipice 



Lint, flax ; Lint i' the bell, flax In flowo 

Lintwhite, a linnet 

Loan, or loanin, the place of milking 

Loof, the palm of the hand 

Loot, did let 

Looves, plural of loof 

Loun, a fellow, a ragamuffin ; a womas 

of easy virtue 
Loup, jump, leap 
Lowe, a flame 
Lowin, flaming 

Lowrie, abbreviation of Lawrence 
Lowse, to loose 
Lows'd, loosed 
Lug, the ear ; a handle 
Lugget, having a handle 
Luggie, a small wooden dish with » 

handle 
Lum, the chimney 
Lunch, a large piece of cheese, fltsh 

&c. 
Lunt, a colunui of smoke ; to smoke 
Luntin, smoking 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, grey 

MAE, more 

Mair, more 

Maist, most, almost 

Maistly, mostly 

Mak, to make 

Makin, making 

Mailen, a farm 

Mallie, Molly 

Mang, among 

Manse, the parsonage-house, whem 

the minister lives 
Manteele, a mantle 
Mark, marks. (This and several othei 

nouns which in English require an J 
I to form the plural, are in ? :otcb 



GLOSSARY, 



•7k 



like the words sheep, deer, the same 
in both numbers) 

Marled, variegated ; spotted 

Mar's year, the year 1715 

Mashlum, mesUn, mixjd corn 

Mask, to mash, as malt, &c. 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot 

Maud, maad, a plaid worn by shep- 
herds, &c. 

Maukin, a hare 

Maun, must 

Mavis, the thinish 

Maw, to mow 

Mawin, mowing 

Meere, a mare 

Meikle, meickle, much 

Melancholious, mournful 

Melder, com, or grain of any kind, 
sent to the mill to be ground 

Mell, to meddle. Also a mallet for 
pounding barley in a stone trough 

Melvie, to soil withjneal 

Men', to mend 

Mense, good manners, decorum 

Menseless, ill-bred, rude, impudent 

Messin, a small dog 

Midden, a dunghill 

Midden-hole, a gutter at the bottom of 
a dunghill 

Mim, prim, affectedly meek 

Min', mind ; resemblance 

Mind't, mind it ; resolved, intending 

Minnie, mother, dam 

Mirk, mirkest, dark, darkest 

Misca', to abuse, to call names 

Misca'd, abused 

Mislear'd, mischievous, unmannerly 

MIsteuk, mistook 

Mother, a mother 

Wixtie-maxtie, confusedly mixed 



Moistify, to moisten 

Mony, or monie, many 

Mools, dust, earth, the earth of the 

grave ; to rake i' the mools. to ay 

m the dust 
Moop, to nibble as a sheep 
Moorlan', of or belonging to moorv 
Morn, the next day, to-morrow 
Mou, the mouth 
Moudiwort, a mole 
Mousie, diminutive of mouse 
Muckle, or mickle, great, big, much 
Musie, diminutive of muse 
Muslin-kail, broth composed simply of 

water, shelled barley, and greens 
Mutchkin, an English pint 
Mysel, myself 

NA, no, not, nor 

Nae, no, not any 

Naething, or naithing, nothing 

Naig, a horse 

Nane, none 

Nappy, ale ; to be tipsy 

Negleckit, neglected 

Neuk, a nook 

Niest, next 

Nieve, the fist 

Nievefu', handful 

Niffer, an exchange ; to exchange, to 

barter 
Niger, a negro 

Nine-tailed-cat, a hangman's whip 
Nit, a nut 

Norland, of or belonging to the nortb 
Notic't, noticed 
Nowte, black cattle 

O', of 

Ocbils, name of mountains 



•72 GLOSSARY. 


haite, C lairh » i orth 


Pine, pain, uneasiness 


Ony, or onie, any 


Pit, to put 


Or, is often used for ere, before 


Placad, public proclamation 


Ora, or orra, supernumerary, that can 


Plack, an old Scotch coin, tht thirl 


be spared 


part of a Scotch penny, twehe ol 


0"t, ofit 


which make an English penny. 


Ourie, shivering ; drooping 


Plackless, penniless, without money 


Oursel, or oursels, ourselves 


Platie, diminutive of plate 


Outlers, cattle not housed 


Plew, or pleugh, a plough 


Owre, over ; too 


Pliskie, a trick 


Owre-hip, a way of fetching a blow 


Poind, to seize cattle or goods for rem 


with the hammer over the arm 


as the laws of Scotland allow 




Poortith, poverty 


PACK, intimate, familiar ; twelve stone 


Pou, to pull 


of wool 


Pouk, to pluck 


Painch, paunch 


Poussie, a hare, or cat 


Paitrick, a partridge 


Pout, a poult, a chick 


Pang, to cram 


Pou't, did pull 


Parle, speech 


Pow, the head, the skull 


Parritch, oatmeal pudding, a wtU- 


Pownie, a little horse 


known Scotch dish 


Powther, or pouther, powder 


Pat, did put ; a pot 


Powthery, like powder 


Pattle, or pettle, a plough-staff 


Preen, a pin' 


Paughty, proud, haughty 


Prent, to print ; print 


Pauky, or pawkie, cunning, sly 


Prie, to taste 


Pay't, paid ; beat 


Prie'd, tasted 


Pech, to fetch the breath short, as in 


Prief, proof 


an asthma 


Prig, to cheapen ; to dispute 


Pechan, the crop, the stomach 


Priggin, cheapening 


Peelin, peeling, the rind of fruit 


Primsie, demure, precise 


Pet, a domesticated sheep, &c. 


Propone, to lay down, to propose 


Pettle, to cherish ; a plough-staff 


Provoses, provosts 


Philabegs, short petticoats worn by the 


Puddock-stool, a mushroom, fu/igus 


Highlandmen 


Pund, pound ; pounds 


Phraisf!, fair speeches, flattery ; to 


Pyle, a pyle •' caflf, a single grain ol 


flatter 


chaflf 


Phraisin, flattery 


' 


Pibroch, Highland war music adapted 


QUAT, to quit 


to the bagpipe 


Quak, to quake 


Pickle, a small quantity 


Quey, a cow frcm one to two yeais oW 



GLOSSARY. 



nAGWEE D. llij \x i\ 1 ^r /ort 

Raible, to lallle nonsense 

Rair, to roar 

Raize, to madden, to inflame 

Ram-feezl'd, fatigued ; overspread 

Ram-stam, thoughtless, forward 

Raploch, properly a coarse cloth ; but 
used as an adnoun for coarse 

Rarely, excellently, very well 

Rash, a rush; rash-buss, a bush of 
rushes 

Ratton, a rat 

Raucle, rash ; stout ; fearless 

Raught, reached 

Raw, a row 

Rax, to stretch 

Ream, cream ; to cream 

Reaming, brimful, frothing 

Reave, rove 

R^ck, to heed 

Rc)?*;, counsel ; to counsel 

Red-wat-shod, walking in blood over 
the shoe-tops 

Red-wud, stark mad 

Ree, half drunk, fuddled 

Reek, smoke 

Reekin, smoking 

Reekit, smoked ; smoky 

Remead, remedy 

Requite, requited 

Rest, to stand restive 

Restit, stcjod restive ; stunted ; wi- 
thered 

Restricked, restricted 

Rew, to repent, to compassionate 

Rief, reef, plenty 

Rief randies, sturdy beggars 

Rig, a ridge 

Kigwiddie, rigwoodie, the rope or chain 
that a'osses the saddle of a horse to 



spaie. 



support the spokes A a cart ; 

withered, sapless 
Rin, to run, to melt 
Rinnin, running 
Rink, the course of the stones, a te-m 

in curling on ice 
Rip, a handful of unthreshed corn 
Riskit, made a noise like the tearing 

of roots 
Rockin, spinning on the rock, or distaff 
Rood, stands likewise for the plural 

roods 
Roon, a shred, a border or selvage 
Roose, to praise, to commend 
Roosty, rusty 
Roun', round, in the circle of neigh 

bourhood 
Roupet, hoarse, as with a cold 
Routhie, plentiful 
Row, to roll, to wrap 
Row't, rolled, wrapped 
Rowte, to low, to bellow 
Rowth, or routh, plenty 
Rowtin, lowing 
Rozet, rosin 
Rung, a cudgel 
Runkled, wrinkled 

Runt, the stem of cclewort or cabbag* 
Ruth, sorrow 
Ryke, to reach 

SAE, so 

Saft, soft 

Sair, to serve ; a sore 

Sairly, or sairlie, sorely 

Sair't, ser\'ed 

Sark, a shirt ; a shift 

Sarkit, provided in shirt* 

Saugh, the wiUow 

Saju, so'il 



•74 GLOSS ARV, 

Saumont, salnon 

Saunt, a saint 

Saut, salt, adj. salt. 

Saw, to sow 

Sawin, sowing 

Sax, six 

Scaiih, to damage, to injure ; injury 

Scar, a cliff 

Scaud, to scald 

Sci\uld, to scold 

Scaur, apt to be scared 

Scawl, a scold ; a termagant 

Scyn, a cake of bread 

Sconuer, a loathing ; to loathe 

Scraich, to scream as a hen, partridge, 

&c. 
Screed, to tear ; a rent 
Scrievc, to glide swiftly along 
Scrievin, gleesomely ; swiftly 
Scrimp, to scant 
Scrimpet, did scant ; scanty 
See'd, did see 
Seizin, seizing 

Sel, self ; a body's sel, one's self alone 
Sell't, did sell 
Sen', to send 
Sen't, I, &c., sent, or did send it ; 

send it 
Servan', servant 
Settlin', settling ; to get a settlin', to be 

frighted into quietness 
Sets, sets off, goes away 
Shachled, distorted ; shapeless 
Shaird, a shred, a shard 
Shangan, a stick cleft at one end to put 

in the tail of a clog, &c., by way of 

mischief, or to frighten him away 
Shaver, a humorous wag ; a barber 
Ltiaw, to show ; a small wood in a 

hollow 



Sheep-shank ; to think one's self nat 
sheep-shank, to be conceited 

Sherra-muir, Sheriff-moor, the battMi 
fought in the rebellion, a. d. 1713 

Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, a sluice 

Shiel, a shed 

Shill, shrill 

Shog, a shock ; a push off at coc aid* 

Shool, shovel 

Shoon, shoes 

Shore, to offer, to threaten 

Shor'd, offered 

Shouther, the shoulder 

Shure, did shear, shore 

Sic, such 

Sicker, sure, steady 

Sidelins, sidelong, slanting 

Siller, silver ; money 

Simmer, summer 

Sin, a son 

Sin', since 

Skaith. See Scaith 

Skellum, a worthless fellow 

Skelp, to strike, to slap ; to walk w itl 
a smart tripping step ; a smart stroke 

Skelpie limmer, a reproachful tern, in 
female scolding 

Skelpin, stepping, walking 

Skiegh, or skeigh, proud, nice, higk- 
mettled 

Skinklin, a small portion 

Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly 

Skirling, shrieking, crying 

Skirl't, shrieked 

Sklent, slant ; to nm aslant, to deviate 
from truth 

Sklented, ran, or hit, in an oblique di- 
rection 

Skouth, freedom K<, conveiso withom 
restraint ; range scope 



GLOSS AR Y. 



«r> 



Skriegh, a scream ; to scream 

Skyrin, shining ; making a great show 

Sk>te, foice, very forcible motion 

Slae, a sloe 

Slade, did slide 

Slap, a gate ; a breach in a fence 

Slaver, saliva ; io emit saliva 

Slaw, slow 

Slee, sly ; sleest, sliest 

Sleekit, sleek ; sly 

Sliddery, slippery 

S";)pe, to fall ov^r, as a wet furrow 
from the plough 

Sfypet, fell 

Sma', small 

Smeddum, dust, powder ; mettle, 

Smiddy, a smithy [sense 

Smoor, to smother 

Smoor'd, smothered 

Smoutie, smutty, obscene, ugly 

Smytrie, a numerous collection of small 
individuals 

Snapper, to stumble ; a stumble 

Snash, abuse, Billingsgate 

Snaw, snow ; to snow 

Snaw-broo, melted snow 

Snawie, snowy 

Sneck, snick, the latch of a door 

Sned, to lop, to cut off 

Sneeshin, snuff 

Sneeshin-mill, a snuff-box 

Snell, bitter, biting 

Snick-drawing, trick-contriving, crafty 

Snirtle, to laugh restrainedly 

Snf)od, a ribbon for binding the hair 

Sntjol, one whose spirit is broken with 
oppressive slavery ; to submit tame- 
ly, to sneak 

Snor.v5, .: go sraoothly and constantly ; 
to sneak 



Snowk, to scent or snuff, as a dog, &C. 

Snowkit, scented, snuffed 

Sonsie, having sweet, engaging looks ; 

lucky, jolly 
Soom, to swim 
Sooth, truth, a pretty oath 
Sough, a heavy sigh, a soupd dying 

on the ear 
Souple, flexible ; swift 
Souter, a shoemaker 
Sowens, a dish made of oatmeal : the 

seeds of oatmeal soured, &c,, flum- 
mery 
Sowp, a spoonful, a small quantity of 

anything liquid 
Sowth, to try over a tune with a low 

whistle 
Sowther, solder ; to solder, to cement 
Spae, to prophesy, to divine 
Spaul, a limb 

Spairge, to dash, to soil, as with mire 
Spaviet, having the spaWn 
Spean, spane, to wean 
Speat, or spate, a sweeping torrent 

after rain or thaw 
Speel, to climb 
Spence, the country parlour 
Spier, to ask, to Inquire 
Spier't, Inquired 
Splatter, a splutter, to splutter 
Spleughan, a tobacco-pouch 
Splore, a frolic ; a noise, riot 
Sprackle, sprachle, to clamber 
Sprattle, to scramble 
Spreckled, spotted, speckled 
Spring, a quick air in music ; a Scot- 

tish reel 
Sprit, a tough-rooted plant, something 

like rushes 
Sprlttie, full of spirits 
T a 



176 GLOSSARY. 


Spunk, fi.-c, mettle; wt 


Stirk, a cow or bullock a year old 


Spunkic. mettlesome, fiery; will-o'- 


Stock, a plant or root of colewort, ?al> 


wisp, or ignis fatiius 


bage, &c. 


Spurtle, a stick, used in making oat- 


Stockin, a stocking: throwing th«* 


meal pudding or porridge 


stockin ; when the bride and bride- 


Squad, a crew, a party 


groom are put into bed, and the . 


Squatter, to flutter in water, as a wild 


candle out, the former throws a 


duck 


stocking at random among the com- 


Squattle, to sprawl 


pany, and the person whom it strike* 


Stacher, to stagger 


is the next that will be married 


Stick, a rick of corn, hay, &c. 


Stoiter, to stagger, to stammer 


St aggie, the diminutive of stag 


Stooked, made up in shocks as com 


Stalwart, strong, stout 


Stoor, sounding hollow, strong, and 


Stan, to stand ; stan't, did stand 


hoarse 


Stane, a stone 


Stot, an ox 


Stang, an acute pain ; a twinge ; to 


Stoup, or stoAvp, a kind of jug o» Jisl- 


sting 


with a handle j 


Stank, did stink; a pool of standing 


Stoure, dust, more particularly dust in 


Stap, stop [water 


motion 


Stark, stout 


Stowlins, by stealth 


! Startle, to run as cattle stung by the 


Stown, stolen 


■ gad-fly 


Stoyte, to stumble 


Staumrel, a blockhead ; half-witted 


Strack, did strike 


Staw, did steal ; to surfeit 


Strae, straw ; to die a fair strae death. 


Stech, to cram the belly 


to die in bed 


Stechin, cramming 


Straik, did strike 


Steek, to shut ; a stitch 


Straikit, stroked 


Steer, to molest ; to stir 


Strappin, tall and handsome 


Steeve, firm, compacted 


Straught, straight ; to siraightt^i 


Stell, a still 


Streek, stretched, tight ; to stretch 


Sten, to rear as a horse 


Striddle, to straddle 


Sten't, reared 


Stroan, to spout, to piss 


Stents, tribute ; dues of any kind 


Studdie, an anvil 


Stey, steep ; steyest, steepest 


Stumpie, diminutive of stump 


Stibble, stubble ; stibble-rig, the reaper 


Strunt, spirituous liquor of auy Vim'. . « 


in hai /est who takes the lead 


walk sturdily ; huff. suUenneat 


Stick an' stow, totally, altogether 


Stuff, com or pulse of an> l-j*l 


Stile, a cinitch ; to halt, to limp 


Sturt, trouble ; to molest 


Stimpait, the eighth part of a Winches- 


Sturtin, frighted 


ter bushel 


Sucker, sugar 



J • ^ 

iuA, should 

Sugh, the i.-C!ttii.^«;d rushing noise of 
wind or water 

Southron, southern ; an old name for 
the English nation 

Swaird, sward 

Swall'd, swelled 

Swank, stately, jolly 

Swankie, or swanker, a tight strappine 
5'oung fellow or girl 

Swap, an exchange ; to bartei 

Swarf, to swoon ; a swoon 

Swat, did sweat 

Swatch, a sample 

Swats, drink ; good ale 

Sweaten, sweating 

Sweer, lazy, a\erse; dead-sweer, ex- 
tremely averse 

Swoor, swore, did swear 

Swinge, to beat ; to whip 

Swirl, a curve ; an eddying blast, or 
pool ; a knot in wood 

Swirlie, knaggie, full of knots 
Swith, get away 

Swither, to hesitate in choice ; an irre- 
solute wavering in choice 
Syne, since, ago ; then 

TACKETS, a kind of nails for driving 

into the heels of shoes 
Tae, a toe ; three-tae'd, having three 

prongs 
Tairgfc, a target 
Tak, to take ; t?.kin, taking 
Tamtallan, the narre of a mountain 
Tangle, a sea-weed 
Tap, the top 

lapetless, heedless, foolish 
Tarrow, to murmur at one's allowance 
Tarrow't, mu mured 



^Jf 



27? 



Tarry-breeks, a sailor 

Tauld, or tald, told 

Taupie, a foolish, thoughtless young 

person 
Tauted, or tautie, matted together ; 

spoken of hair or wool 
Tawie, that allows itself (juietly to be 
handled ; spoken of a horse, cow, &c. 
Teat, a small quantity 
Tedding, spreading after the mower 
Teen, to provoke ; provocation 
Ten-hours' bite, a slight feed to horsea 

while in the yoke, in the forenoon 
Tent, a field-pulpit ; heed, caution ; to 

take heed ; to tend or herd cattle 
Tentie, heedful, cautious 
Tentless, heedless 
Teugh, tough 

Thack, thatch ; thack an' rape, cloth- 
ing necessaries 
Thae, these 

Thairms, small guts ; fiddle-strings 
Thankit, thanked 
Theekit, thatched 
Thegither, together 
Themsel, themselves 
Thick, intimate, familiar 
Thieveless, cold, dry, spited : spokef 

of a person's demeanour 
Thir, these 
Thirl, thrill 

Ihirled, thrilled, vibrated 
Thole, to suffer, to eidure 
Thowe, a thaw; to thaw 
Th owl ess, slack, lazy 
Til rang, throng, a crowd 
Thrapple, throat, windpipe 
Thrave, twenty-four sheaves or tw« 
shocks of corn ; a considerable num- 
ber 



GLOSSAKV. 



Thraw, to sprain, to twist ; to contra- 
dict 

Thrawin, twisting, &c. 

Thrawn, sprained, twisted ; contra- 
dicted 

Threap, to maintain by dint of asser- 
tion 

Threshin, thrashing 

Threteen, thirteen 

Thristle, thistle 

Through, to go on with ; to make out 

Throuther, pell-mell, confusedly 

Thud, to make a loud intermittent 
noise 

Thumpit, thumped 

Thysel, thyself 

Till't, to it 

Timmer, timber 

Tine, to lose ; tint, lost 

Tinkler, a tinker 

Tint the gate, lost the way 

Tip, a ram 

Tippence, twopence 

Tirl, to make a slight noise ; to imcover 

Tirlin, uncovering 

Tither, the other 

Tittle, to whisper 

Tittlin, whispering 

Tocher, marriage portion 

Tod, a fox 

Toddle, to totter, like the walk of a 
child 

Toddlin, tottering 

Toom, empty ; to empty 

Toop, a ram 

Toun, a hamlet ; a f?rm-house 

Tout, the blast of a horn or trumpet ; 
to blow a horn, &c. 

Tow, a rope 

Towmond, a twelvemonth 



Towzie, rough, shaggy 

Toy, a very old fashion of female head- 
dress 

Toyte, to totter like old age 

Transmugrified, transmigrated, me- 
tamorphosed 

Trashtrie, trash 

Trews, trowsers 

Trickie, full of tricks 

Trig, spruce, neat 

Trimly, excellently 

Trow, to believe 

Trowth, truth, a petty oath 

Tryste, an appointment ; a fair 

Trysted, appointed ; to tryste, to make 
an appointment 

Try't, tried 

Tug, raw hide, of which in old times 
plough-traces were frequently made 

Tulzie, a quarrel ; to quarrel, to fight 

Twa, two 

Twa-three, a few 

'Twad, it would 

Twal, twelve ; twal-pennie worth, a 
small quantity, a pennyworth. N.B. 
One penny English is i2d. Scotch. 

Twin, to part 

Tyke, a dog 

UNCO, strange, uncouth ; very, very 

great, prodigious 
Uncos, news 
Unkenn'd, unknown 
Unsicker, unsure, unsteady 
Unskaith'd, undamaged, unhurt 
Unweeting, unwittingly, unknowinglj 
Upo', upon 
Urchin, a hedgehog 

VAP'RIN, vipourinj 



GLOSSARY, »» \ 


Vera, very 


Waukit, thickened as fullers do cloth 


Virl, a ring round a colum ate 


Waukrife, not apt to sleep 


Vittle, corn of all kinds, food 


Waur, worse ; to worst 




Waur't, worsted 


WA', wall ; wa's, walls 


Wean, or weanie, a child 


Wabster, a weaver 


Wearie, or weary ; many a weary body, 


Wj.d, would ; to bet ; a bet, a predge 


many a different person 


Wadna, would not 


Weason, weasand 


Wae, wo, sorrowful 


Weaving the stocking. See Stockin, -j 


Waefi', woful, sorrowful, walring 


p. 276 


Waesucks ! or waes me ! alas ! the 


Wee, little ; Wee things, little ones r 


pity! 


Wee bit, a small matter 


Waft, the cross thread that goes from 


Weel, well ; Weelfare, welfare 


the shuttle through the web ; woof 


Weet, rain, wetness 


Wair, to lay out, to expend 


Weird, fate 


Wale, choice ; to choose 


We'se, we shall 


Waled, chose, chosen 


Wha, who 


Walie, ample, large, jolly ; also an in- 


Whaizle, to wheeze 


terjection of distress 


Whalpit, whelped 


Wame, the belly 


Whang, a leathern string ; a piece oi 


Wamefu', a bellyful 


cheese, bread, &c. ; to give the 


Wanchancie, unlucky 


strappado 


Wanrestfu', restless 


Whare, where ; Whare'er, wherever 


Wark, work 


Whase, whose 


Wark-lume, a tool to work with 


Whatreck, nevertheless 


Warl, or warld, world 


Wheep, to fly nimbly, jerk ; penny- 


Warlock, a wizard 


wheep, small beer 


WaWy, worldly, eager on amassing 


Whid, the motion of a hare running, ' 


wealth 


but not frighted ; a lie 


Warran, a warrant ; to warrant 


Whiddin, running as a hare or cony 


Warst, worst 


Whigmeleeries, whims, fancies 


Warstl'd or warsl'd, wrestled 


Whingin, crying, complaining, fretting 


Wastrie, prodigality 


Whirligigums, useless ornaments, tri- 


Wat, wet ; I wat, I wot, I know 


fling appendages 


Water-brose, brose made of meal and 


Whisht, silence ; to hold one's whisht, 


water simply, without the addition of 


to be silent 


milk, butter, &c. 


Whisk, to sweep, to lash 


Wattle, a twig, a wand 


Whiskit, lashed 


Wauble, to swing, to reel 


Whissle, a whistle ; to whistle 


taught, a draught 


Whitter, a hearty draught of liquor 



«8o GLOSSARY. | 


\Vhun-stane, a whin stone 


Worset, worsted 


VVh^'-*!6, whiles, sometimes 


Wow, an exclamation of pleasure oi 


Wi with 


wonder 


Wicht wight, powerful, strong ; in- 


Wrack, to tease, to vex 


ventive ; of a superior genius 


Wraith, a spirit or ghost ; an apparition 


Wick, to strike a stone in an oblique 


exactly like a living person, whose 


direction ; a term in curling 


appearance is said to forebode the 


Wicker, willow (the smaller sort) 


person's approaching death 


Wiel, a small whirlpool 


Wrang, wrong ; to wrong 


Wifie, a diminutive or endearing term 


Wreeth, a drifted heap of snow 


for wife 


Wud, mad, distracted 


Wilyart, bashful and reserved ; avoid- 


Wumble, wimble 


ing society or appearing awkward in 


Wyle, to beguile 


it ; wild, strange, timid 


Wyliecoat, a flannel vest 


Wimple, to meander 


Wyte, blame ; to blame 


Wimpl't, meandered 




Wimplin, wa\ang, meandering 


YAD, an old mare ; a worn-out horse 


Win, to win, to winnow 


Ye ; this pronoun is frequently used 


Win't, winded as a bottom of yam 


for thou 


Win', wind ; Win's, winds 


Year iii used both for singular and 


Winna, will not 


plural, years 


Winnock, a window 


Yearlings, bom in the same year, so- 


Winsome, hearty, vaunted, gay 


evals 


Wintle, a staggering motion ; to stag- 


Yeam, earn, an eagle, an ospray 


ger, to reel 


Yearns, longs much 


Winze, an oath 


Yell, barren, that gives no milk 


Wiss, to wish 


Yerk, to lash, to jerk 


Withoutten, without 


Yerkit, jerked, lashed 


Wizen'd, hide-bound, dried, shrunk 


Yestreen, yesternight 


Wonner, a wonder: a contemptuous 


Yett, a gate, such as is usually at th« 


appellation 


entrance into a farm-yard or field 


Wons, dwells 


Yill, ale 


Woo', wool 


Yird, earth 


Woo, to court, to make love tn 


Yokin, yoking: about 


Woodie, a rope, more properly one 


Yont, beyond 


made of withes or willows 


Yoursel, yourself 


Wooer bat, die garter knotted below 


Yowe, an ewe 


the knee with a couple of loops 


Yowie, diminutive of yov«9 


Wordy, worthy 


Yule, Christmas 



INDEX 

TO THE POEMS, SONGS, &C. 



Afton Water, 180. 

Aiken, Robert, Epitaph for, 256. 

Allan Stream, 157. 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 168. 

Amang the Trees, 213. 

Ane-and-twenty, Oh for, 175. 

Anna, Gowden Locks of, 188. 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 201. 

As down the Burn, 225. 

As I was wandering, 225. 

Auld Fanner's New-year Morning Sa- 
lutation to his Auld Mare Maggie, 
50- 

Auld Lang 83016, 200. 

Auld Man, The, 162. 

Auld Rob Morris, 151. 

Author's earnest Cry and Prayer, 4. 

Author's Farewell to his native Coun- 
try 197. 

B 

liallochmyle. The Lass of, 150. 
Bank of Flowers, On a, 214. 
Bank-note^ Lines written on a, 143. 
Banks o' Doon, The, 178. 



Banks of Devon, 189. 

Banks of Nith, The, 176. 

Banks of Nith, a ballad, aig. 

Bannockburn, 200. 

Bannocks o' Barley, 226. 

Bard's Epitaph, 257. 1 

Battle of Sheriff-Muir, 203. f 

Bed, Lines to my, 59. t 

Beelzebub, Address of, to the President j 

of the Highland Society, 136. 
Behold the Hour, 179. 
Belles of Mauchline, The, 217- 
Bessy and her Spinnin Wheel, 176. 
Big-bellied Bottle, The, 197. 
Birks of Aberfeldy, 169. 
Blacklock, Dr., To, 105. 
Blair, Sir James Hunter, OntheDeatk 

of, 127. 
Blissful Day, The, 173. 
Blithe hae I been, 190. 
Blithe was she, 170. 
Blude-red Rose, The, 237. 
Blue-eyed Lassie, The, 174. 
Bonnie Anne, 185. 
Bonnie Bell, 181. 



»S3 



INDEX, 



Bonnie blink o' Marj's e'e, 187. 
Bonnie Lad that's far away, 188. 
Bonnie Lass, 223. 

— — , Here's to thy health, 229. 

Bonnie Lesley, 213. 

Bonnie Mary, 185. 

Bonnie Peg, 219. 

Bonnie wee Thing, 176. 

JJook-worms, The, 142. 

Bottle and Friend, 207. 

Braes o' Ballochmyle, 173. 

Braw Lads of Gallawater, 227. 

Braw Wooer, The, 167. 

Brigs of Ayr, 16. 

Bruar Water, The humble Petition of, 

to the Duke of Athole, 97. 
Burnet, Miss, late of Monboddo, Elegy 

on, 106. 
Burns— extempore, 143. 
Bums, Miss, Lines written under the 

Picture of, 256. 
Bushby, John, Epitaph on, 257 ; Notices 

of, 257. 



C , Miss, Lines to, 142. 

Caledonia, 202. 

Can ye labour lea ? 148. 

Canst thou leave me thus? 194. 

Captain Grose, 205. 

Captain's Lady, The, 233. 

Cardin' o't, The, 229. 

Carle of Killyburn Braes, 239. 

'"Carles of Dysart, 241. 

cAuld blast, O wert thou in the, 183. 

C*->iw<5ck Banks, 208. 

ts.ievalier's Lament, The, 217. 

Chloris, — Ah, since it may na be, 245. 

, Lines presented to, with the 

last edition of Bums' Poems, iix. 



Chloris, My, — Mark how grecD th* 
groves, 192. 

, To, on her Illness, 194. 

, To, Behold, my love, 247. 

Clarinda, Stanzas to, 23, 24. 
Cock up your Beaver, 242. 
Collier Laddie, 246. 
Come, boat me o'er to Charlie, sa6. 
Come, let me take thee. 191. 
Coming through the Rye, 227. 
Contented wi' little, 163. 
Cooper o' Cuddie, 237. 
Cotter's Saturday Night, 59. 
Country Laird, Epitaph on a, 256. 
Country Lassie, 177. 
Craigie-B\irn Wood, 224. 
Creech, \Vm., Epistle to, 116. 
Cruel Fate, 184. 
Cmikshank, Miss, Lines to, 96. 
Cunningham, Mrs., To, 202. 



Dacre, Lord, Lines on an interview 

with, 107. 
Daintie Davie, 140. 
Damon and Sylvia, 218. 
Davie, a Brother Poet, Epistle to, 55. 

, Second Epistle to, loi. 

Dean of Faculty, The, 207. 

Death, a Prayer on the Prospect of, 64. 

, Stanzas on the same occasion, 

65. 

, Song of, a Gallic air, 151. 

Death and Dr. Hornbook, 13. 
Death and dying words of poor MailUa 

27. 
Death of a favourite Daughter, it. 
Deil, Address to the, 24. 
Delia, an Ode, 125. 
Deluded Swain, 158. 



INDEX. 283 


Despondency, an Ode, 58. 


Farewell to a dear Friend, 131. | 
Farewell to old Scotia's bleak domains, \ 


Deuks dang o'er my Daddle, The, 222. 


Dove, John, Epitaph on, 257. 


I3X. 1 


Orumlanrig, On the Destruction of the 


. •pr „ - '<■ 




Woods near, 68. 






Dumfries Volunteers, 204. 




Dumourier, General, Address to, 216. 


Lodge, 198. 


Duncan Gray, 152. 


Fergusson, Robert, Lament on, 98, 


~, Weary fa' you, 241. 






Uundas, Robt., On the Death of, 137. 


of; 118. [ 






E 


trait of, 126. I 


Eilinburgh, Addres> to, 75. 


Ferrier, Miss, Stanzas to, X09. 


Election, The, a balkd, 243. 


F6te ChampGtre, 236. 


Elegy on the Year 1788, 125. 


Fickle Fortune, 144. 


Eliza, Farewell to, 195. 


First Kiss of Affection, 26. 


Elphinstone's Translation of Martial, 


Five Carlins, The, 220. 


Epigram on, 256. 


Fontenelle, Miss, Address spoken by. 


Epigrams, 253, 254, 255, 256. 


on her Benefit-night, 108. 


Epitaph, — Stop, passenger ! 84. 




Character, 141. 




Epitaphs, miscellaneous, 256, 257. 


For a' that and a' that, 201. 


Eppie Adair, 247. 


Forlorn, my love, 167. 


Eppie M'Nab, 246. 


Fox,TotheRt. Hon. Charles James,22. 


Esopus, Epistle from, to Maria, 130. 


Frae the Friends and Lands I love, 248. 


Evan Banks, 214. 


Fragment — Her flowing locks, 217. 


Excellent New Song, An, 244. 


Friars-Carse Hermitage, Lines written 


Excessive Grief, Stanzas written while 


in, 36, 


under the pressure of, 66. 


Full well thou knowest, 169. 


Excise, extemporaneous Effusions on 


Fyers, on the Fall of, near Lochne&s, 


being appointed to the, 255. 


100. 


Exdseman, The Deil's awa wi' the, 190. 


^ 


F 


Galla Water, 153. ! 


Gallant Weaver, The, 201. | 


Fair and Fause, 178. 


Galloway, Lord,On seeing the beautifa 


Fair Eliza, 177. 


Seat of, 254 ; Epigrams on, 254. 


Falsehood in the Rev. Dr. B— 's looks. 


Gane is the Day, 175. 


255- 


Gavin Hamilton, Epitaph on, 256. 


Farewell, Tlie, 230. 


Glencaim, James, Earl of. Lament foa 


Farewell, thou Stream, T63. 


89. 



b84 index. 


Glencairn, Stanzas intended to accom- 


Hermit, The, 223. 


pany his Picture, 94, 


Heron Ballads, The, 242. 


Gloomy December, 179. 


Hey, the dusty Miller, 229. 


Glossary, 258. 


Highland Laddie, 237. 


Goblet, Inscription on a, 141. 


Highland Lassie, The, 183. 


Goudie, John, Letter to, on the Public- 


Highland Mary, 199. 


ation of his Essays, 128. 


Highland Widow's Lament, 234 


Grace before Dinner, 117. 


Hi.i^Oilands, My heart's in the, 185. 


■ Graham, Miss, Lines to, 133. 


Holy Fair, The, 9. 


Graham, Robt.,of Fintry, Epistles to, 


Holy Willie's Prayer, 251. 


86, 87, 132. 


, his Epitaph, 252. 




Honest Nappy, There's naething liki 


Green grow the rushes, 196. 


the, 146. 


Grose, Capt.,on his late Peregrinaiiuus 


How lang and dreary, 161. 


thro' Scotland, 94. 


How cruel are the parents, 166. 


Gude e'en to you, Kimmer, 247. 


Husband, husband, cease your strife 


Guid ale comes, 220. 


158. 


Guilford good our Pilot stood, 98. 


I 


H 


I burn, I burn, 145, 


Had I a cave, 158. 


I do confess thou art sae fair, 186. 


Had I the wyte, 228. 


I dream'd I lay where flowers were 


Haggis, To a, 71. 


springing, 185. 


Halloween, 40. 


I love my Jean, 172. 


Hamilton, Gavin, A Dedication to, 72. 


I see a form, 164. 


, Lines to, recommending a 


I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 207. 


Boy, 120. 


I'll kiss thee yet, 207. 


Happy days. When I think on those. 


Illegitimate Child, The Poet's Welcome 


246. 


to his, 128. 


Happy Trio, The, 173. 


Illness of a beloved Child, On the. 


Hark ! the Mavis, 160. 


64. 


Harry was a gallant gay, 223. 


Impromptu, addressed to a young Lady 


Hee Balou, 228. 


in a Church, 50. 


Henderson, Capt. Matthew, Elegy 


Independence, Inscription for an Altai 


on, 83. 


to, 113. 


Her Daddie forbad, 228. 


Inventory, The, loi. 


Here's a health to them that's awa. 


Inverness, The lovely Lass of, 181. 


2l8. 


Invitation, Extempore Ansiver to m, 


Here's his health in water, 225. 


24?- 


Here's the Glen, 159, 


It b pa, Jean, thy bounie iaji -ui. 



INDEX, 



28s 



J 

)amic, come try me, 231. 

Tacobites by name. Ye, 245. 

Jessie, 155. 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 184. 

John Anderson, 174. 

John Barleycorn, a ballad, 193. 

Jolly Beggars, The, 45. 

Joyful Widower, The, 230. 

K 
Katharine Jaffray, 246. 
Kemble, Mrs., Lines presented to, 255. 
Kenmore, Lines written at, 74. 
Kenmure's on and awa, 233. 
Kennedy, John, To, 137. 
Kirk of Lamington, 141. 
Kirk's Alarm, a satire, 138. 



Lady Mary-Ann, 233. 

Lady Onlie, 225. 

Lady's Bonnet, at Church, Lines on 

seeing a on, 73. 

Lady's Pocket-book, Extempore lines 

written in, 253. 
Lament, — Alas ! how oft, 57. 
, written when the Poet was 

about to leave Scotland, 126. 
Landlady, count the la win, 231. 
Lap-dog, On the death of a, 138. 
Lapraik, John, the old Scottish Bard, 

Epistle to", 77. 

, Lines to, 120. 

Lass of Ecclefechan, 228. 

Lass that made the bed to me. The, 

222. 
Lass wi' a tocher, 168. 
Lasses of Tarbolton, 8, 54. 
Lassie, art thou sleeping yet? 164. 



Lassie, wi' the lint- white locks, 162. 
Lawyers, The Two, in the Parliament 

House, at Edinburgh, 79. 
Lay thy loof in mine. Lass, 219. 
Lazy Mist, The, 171. 
League and Covenant, The, 141. 
Let not woman e'er complain, 193.' 
Lewars, Miss Jes?y, Lines on, 141 ; 

Epitaph on, 141 ; on the Recovery 

of, 141. 
Liberty, a fragment, 118. 
Life, Poem on, 115. 
Lincluden Abbey, To the Ruins o^ 

146. 
Logan, Major, Epistle to, 134. 

, Miss, Stanzas to, 69. 

Logan Braes, 155. 

Lord Gregory, 154. 

Louis, what reck I by thee, 181. 

Lover's Morning Saiute to his Mi» 

tress, 162. 

M 

M'Adam, Mr., Epistle to, 122. 
M'Leod, John, On the Death of, 96. 
M'Nash, Rev. John, To the, 120. 
M'Pherson's Farewell, 206. 
Maillie, Poor, Death and dying Words 

of, 27 ; Elegy on, 28. 
Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 235. 
Man was made to mourn, 63. 
Mark yonder pomp, 166. 
Mary, Prayer for, 208. 
Mary, Stanzas to, Could a; ight of song, 

216. 
Mary, Verses to, — Will ye go to the 

Indies? 210. 
Mary in Heaven, 215. 
Mary Morison, 210. 
Mary, Queen of S jots, Lament of, 84 



s86 INDEX 


Master of the House by whom Burns 





had bten hospitably treated, Verse 


aj ' iry wife she dang me, 219. 


to the, 1 1 8. 


bonnie was yon rosy brier, 166. 


Mauchhne, Verses on a Wag in, 32. 


leave Novels, 216. 


Maun I still on Menie doat, 198. 


Poortith, 153. 


Maxwell, Dr., I-ines to, on Miss Jessy 


that I had ne'er been married 24&. 


Staig's Recovery, 145. 


0, were I on Parnassus hill, 172. 


Muxwell, John, On his Birthday, 123. 


0, were my love, 190. 


May The Morn of, 181. 


Offended Gentleman, Lines sent to *%, 


, Charming Month of, 192. 


115- 


Medical Friend Lines to a, 107. 


Old Killie, Ye '.ons of, 244. 


Meg 0' the MiJ , 154. 


Old Sweetheart, Verses to an, after u<" 


Meiry hae I been, 234. 


Marriage, 55. 


MitcheJ, Mr., Poem addressed to, 151. 


On the seas and fai avay, is> 


Monody on a Lady famed for her Ca- 


One night as I die* wai dor, 216. 


[ price, 113. 


Open the door to me, oh ! 154. 


; Montgomerie's Peggy, 214. 


Ordination, The, 20. 


1 Mother's Lament for the Death of her 


Oswald, Mrs., Ode to tll^ Mt-nor-v' 


[ Son, 211. 


85. 


1 Mountain Daisy, Lines to a, 67. 


Our Thristles, 226. 


: Mouse, To a, on turning her up in her 


Out over the Forth, 18^ 


1 nest with the plough, 52. 


Owl, To the, 145. 


1 My ain kind dearie, 151. 




j My Father, Epitaph on, 256. 


P 


i My Father was a Farmer, 212. 


Painter, Lines to a, 32. 


\ My handsome Nell, 161. 


Parker, Hugh, Epistle to, 135. 


\ My Hoggie, 241. 


Parvenu, The, 145. 


My lady's gown there's gairs upon't. 


Pastoral Poetry, Poem on, no. 


218. 


Peg-a-Ramsay, 226. 


My love she's but a lassie yet, 231. 


Peg Nicholson, Elegy on the De-»*i» of, 


My Nannie, 195. 


140. 


! My Nannie's awa, 163. 


Peggy's charms, ^^x. 


My Tocher's the Jewel, 99. 


Peggy's face, my Peggy's form- 184. 


My wife's a winsome wee thing, 152. 


Phillis the fair, 156. 




Philly, and her Willie, 193. 


N 


Ploughman, The, 240. 


- Naebody, 152. 


Poet's Daughter, Epitaph on the, 135. 


Nancy, Farewell, 188. 


Poet's Dream, The, 30. 


New- Year Day, 112. 


Poet's Reply to a Gentleman who l:ad 


Nithdale's w elcome Hame, 238. 


sent him a Newspaper, j6. 



INDEX. 287 1 


Polly Stewart, 220. 


Ruin, Lines to, 48. 


Posid, The, 178. 


Ruisseaux, Robt., Elegy on the Deat'j 


Posthumous Child, On the Birth of a, 


of, 118. 


100. 


Ruhng Elder, Epitaph on a, 256. 


Poverty, Epigram on, 255. 


s 


Prayer on the Prospect of Death, 64. 




' — — under the pressure of violent 


Sae far away, 235. 


anguish, 66. 


Saw ye my dear, 191. 


Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, 


Schoolmaster, Epigram e n a, 255. 


Ellisland, 105. 


Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indie*, 


— , , spoken by Mr. Woods on his 


Lines on a, 70. 


Benefit-night, 147. 


Scotch Drink, 4. 


Prudence, In vain would, 144. 


Scroggam, 249. 


Psalm the First, 66. 


Selkirk Grave, The, 140. 


j; Psalm the Ninetieth, first six verses 


Sensibility, Stanzas on, 213. 


of, 67. 


She says she \ j«*j ir^ best of •>', 160. 




Sick Child, On a, 145. 


^ 


Simmer's a pleasant time, 236. 


Raging Fortune's with'ring blast, 214. 


Simpson, Wm., To, 79. 


■ Rankine, John, Epistle to, 82. 


Sketch, 126. 




Smellie, Mr. Wm., Extempore Line% 
on, 112. 


\ Rantin Dog, The, 186. 


!: Rattlin' roaring Willie, 234. 


Smith, James, To, 28. 


Raving Winds, &c., 170. 


Sodger's Return, The, 211. 


Red, red Rose, 182. 


Somebody, For the sake of, 181. 


Remorse, 143. 


Stay, my Charmer, 169. 


Richardson, Gabriel, Epitaph on, 135. 


Steer her up, 235. 


Riddel, Capt., Extempore Lines to, on 


Stirling Castle, Lines on viewing, 119. 


returning a Newspaper, 123. 


Strathallan's Lament, 170. 


Riddel, Mrs., Impromptu on her Birth- 


Suicide, Epigram on a, 131. 


day, 124. 


Sutherland, Mr., Prologue for hi* Pen^ 


Riddel, Robt., Lines on, 143. 


fit-night at Dumfries, 124. 


"•, Sonnet on the Death of, 113. 


Sweet fa's the eye, 164. 


Rights of Woman, The, 108. 


Sweetest May, 216. 


Rigs 0' Barley 195. 


Syme, Mr., Ext^;mpore Lines tj, t«^ 


Roaring ocean. Musing on the, 170. 




Robin shure in hairst, 220. 


T 


R>>om where the Author slept. Verses 


Tailor, The, 238. 


written in the, 65. 


Tait, James, Letter to, 139. 


Rosebud, The. 171. 


Tam, the Chapman, 145. 



e83 



INDEX, 



Tam Glen, 174. 

Tarn o' Shanter, gi. 

Tam Samson's Eleg>', 37. 

Tarbolton Lasses, 8, 54. 

Taylor, John, To, 143. 

Tears I shed, 249. 

1 hei.- groves o' sweet myrtles, 165. 

1 lieniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 230. 

There was a Lad, 210. 

There was a Lass, and she was fair, 156. 

There was a Lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

240. 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 

hame, 209 
There's a Youth, 186. 
There's news. Lasses, 247. 
Thine am I, 159. 
Thomson, Address to the Shade of, on 

crowning his Bust at Ednam, 96. 
Thou hast left me ever, 192. 
Tibbie Dunbar, 224. 
Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 172. 
Tither mom. The, 238. 
Toast, — Fill me with the rosy wine, 141, 

, Instead of a song, boys, 253. 

Tooth-ache, Address to the, 99. 

Tragic Fragment, 148. » 

Tree of Liberty, The, 39. 

Twa Dogs, a talc, i. 

I wa Herds, The, 249. 

'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e, 165. 

Tytlers, Mr. Wm., Poetical Address 



U 



37- 



Unco Guid, Address to the; 

Union, The, 223. 

Up in the Morning early, 184 



Vision, — The Sun had closed, 3a 



Vision, — As I stood by yon ruthi',e« 

tower, 183 
Vowels, The, a tale, 123. 

W 

Wandering Willie, 155. 

Was e'er puir Poet, 146. 

Wat ye wha that lo'es me, 247. 

Wat ye wha's in yon town, 182. 

Water-fowl in Loch Turit, 253. 

Wauchope-house, Answer to Guidw sf» 

of, 119. 
Wee Johnny, Epitaph on, 256. 
Wee Willie Gray, 224. 
Westhn Winds, 126. 
Wha is she that lo'es me, 205. 
Wha is that at my bower door ? 187. 
Whare did ye get, 235. 
Whare hae ye been, 242. 
When first I came to Stewart K.''l'5, 

213. 
Where are the joys, 191. 
Whistle, The, a ballad, 102. 
Whistle, and I'll come to you, my ' id, 

157- 
Whistle owre the lave o't, 206. 
Whiteford, Sir John, Lines sei»» to, 

with a Poem, 91. 
Why tell thy lover, 202. 
Why the deuce, 220. 
Willie Chalmers, 142. 
Willie's Wife, 180. 
Wilt thou be my dearie? 159. 
Winding Nith, Adown, 189. 
Windows, Lines written on, *t DuM 

fries, 255, 256. 
Winter, a dirge, 59. 
Winter, it is past, 217. 
Winter Night, 53. 
Women's Minds, 215. 



INDEX. 3)l4 


Vi'oodlark, Address to the, 165. 


Young Friend, Epistle to a, 69. 


Wounded Hare, Stanzaa on seeing a, 


Young Jockey, 206. 


95- 


Young Lady, Verses to a, 110. 




Young Lassie,— What can she do with 


Y 


an Auld Man? 173. 




Young Peggy, 209. 


Ye hae lien a' wrang, Lassie, 218. 


Yours this moment I unseal. To — — . 


Yff^ wild mossy mountains, 187. 


144. 


INDEX 


TO THE FIRST LINES. 


A Highland lad my love was born, 47. 


All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 


A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping 


148. 


wight, 126. 


All hail ! inexorable lord, 68. 


A guid New Year I wish thee, Maggie, 


Allho' my back be at the wa', 225. 


50. 


Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 214. *' 


A robe of seeming truth and trust, 9. 


Amang the trees, where humming 


A rose-bud by my early walk, 172. 


bees, 213. 


A' the lads 0' Thornie bank, 225. 


Among the heathy hills and ragged 


A' ye wha live by sowps 0' drink, 69. 


woods, 100. 


Accept the gift of a friend sincere, 66. 


An' for ane-and-twenty, Tam, 173. 


Adieu ,' a heart-warm, fond adieu, 198. 


An honest man here lies at rest, 116. 


Admiring Nature in her wildest grace. 


Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 201. 


74- 


Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy 


Adown winding Nith I did wander. 


December, 179. 


189. 


An' Oh ! my Eppie, 247. 


Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, 


As cauld a wind as ever blew, 141. 


254. 


As down the burn they took their way 


Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, 188. 


225. 


Again rejoicing Nature sees, 198, 


As I came in by our gate end, 219. 


Again the silent wheels of time, 69. 


As I stood by yon roofless towel 


Ah, Chloris, since it Piay na be, 245. 


183. 

V 



INDEX TO THE I'IRST LINES. 



As 1 was a 'Arand'ring ae midsumnier 

e'enin, liS. 
As I was walking up the street, 235. 
As Maillie and her lambs thegither, 27. 
As on the banks o' wandering Nith, 

68. 
As Tarn, the chapman, on a daj', 145. 
Auld chuckle's sair distrest, 116. 
Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner, 

129, 
Awa, Whigs, awa ! 226. 
Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's 
ianns, 168. 



Jannocks o' bear meal, 226. 
Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 

96. 
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 

195. 
Behold, my love, how green the groves, 

247. 
Behold the hour, the boat arrive, 179. 
Peyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dea- 
rie, 224. 
31ess the Redeemer, O Cardoness, 256. 
Blithe, blithe, and merry was she, 170. 
Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 190. 
Blockheads with reason wicked wits 

abhor, 249. 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 169. 
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 

176. 
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water, 227. 
Bright ran |hy line, O Galloway, 254. 
But lately seen in gladsome green, 162. 
But rarely seen since Nature's birth, 

141. 
Ey Allan stream I ch^nc'd to rove, 

»57. 



By yon castle wa' at the cIosa of di« 
day, 209. 



Ca' the yowes to the knowtc, 160. 
Canst thou leave me thus, nuy Katy, 

194. 
Cauld is the e'enin' blast, 226. 
Cease, ye prudes, your envio'.is railing, 

256. 
Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 23. 
Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 

227. 
Come, let me take thee to my breast, 

191. 
Coming through the rye, poor body, 

227. 
Contented wi' little, and cantie wV 

mair, 163. 
Could aught of song declare my p.up«, 

216. 
Curse on ungrateful man, that c^n b« 

pleas' d, 126. 



Dear , I'll gie ye some advice, 32 

Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie thief, 28 
Deluded swain, the pleasure, 158. 
Dire was the hate at old Harla v, 207. 
Does haughty Gaul invasicjn ihnai 1 

204. 
Duncan Gray came here to v, ^, 152. 
Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 85. 



Earth'd up here lies an imp o' htll 
131. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling se?*, 75. 
Expect na. Sir, in this nari«lion, 72. 



INDEX TO THE h^RST LINES. 



Fair fa' youi honest, sonsie face, 71. 
Fair mistress of the Poet's soul, 24. 
Fair maid, yo.i need not take the hint, 

so- 
Fair the face of orient day, 125. 
Farewell, dear friend ! may guid luck 

hit you, loT. 
Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, 

131. 
Fap;well. thou fair day, thou green 

eartn, and ye skiei, 151. 
Farewell, thou stream that winding 

flows, 163. 
Farewell to a' Scottish *am<i, 223. 
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong. 

204. 
Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 

211. 
Fill me with the rosy wine, 141. 
Fintry, my stay in worldly strife, 132. 
First when Maggy was my care, 206. 
FI01V gently, sweet Afton, among thy 

green braes, 180. 
For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 

125. 
Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 167. 
Frae the friends and land I love, 248. 
Friday first's the day appointed, 107. 
Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 115. 
From thee, Eliza, I must go, 195. 
From those drear solitudes and frowzy 

cells, 130. 
Full well thou knowest I love thee, 

dear, 169. 
Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 243. 

G 

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, 

I7^ 



Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 228. 
Give him strong drink until he wink, 4. 
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 183. 
Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that 1 

may live, 253. 
Green grow the rashes, 196. 
Gude'en to you, Kimmer, 247. 
Guid-momin to your Majesty ! 30. 
Guid speed an' furder to you, Johnny, 



H 

Ha ! whareyegaun, ye crowlin ferlie, 7. 
Had I a cave on some wild distant 

shore, 158. 
Had I the wyte, had I the wyte, 228. 
Hail, Poesie, thou Nymph reserved, 

no. 
Hail,thairm-inspirin',rattlin'Willie,i34. 
Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deill 

37- 
He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 

79- 
Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief 1 

123. 
Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 

94. 
Heard ye o' the tree o' France, 39. 
Heebalou ! my sweet wee Donald, 228. 
Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad, 

228. 
Her flowing locks, the raven's wing,2i7. 
Here awa, there awa, wandering Wil- 
lie, 155. 
Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, 

135- 
Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay, -^ia. 
Here is the glen, and here the bower, 

159- 
Here lie Willie Michie's banes, 155. 
u a 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LIKES. 



Here lies John Bushby, honest man, 
257- 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon, 257. 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose, 135. 

H ;re sowter Hood in Death does sleep, 
256. 

Here Stuarts ance in glory reign'd, 119. 

Here, where the Scottish muse immor- 
tal lives, no. 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend, 207. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, 168. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 21S. 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
229. 

Hey, the dusty miller, 229. 

How can my poor heart be glad, 159. 

How cold is that bosom which folly 
once fir'd, 113. 

How cruel are the parents, 166. 

How lang and dreary is the night, 161. 

How pleasant the banks of the clear- 
winding Devon, 189. 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and 
unite, 22. 

Humid seal of soft affections, 26. 

Husband, husband, cease your strife, 

i am a bard of no regard, 49. 
I am a keeper of the law, 253. 
I am a son of Mars, who have been in 

many wars, 45. 
I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd 

corn, 145. 
I call no goddess to inspire my strains, 

116. 
1 coft a stane o' haslock woo', 229. 
I do confess thou art sae fair, 186. 
I dream'd I lay where flowers were 

springmg, 185. 



I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, 174. 
I gat your letter, winsome Willie, 79 
I hae a wife o' my ain, 152. 
I hold it. Sir, my bounden duty^ 122. 
I lang hae thought, my youthfu' frien<]^ 

69. 
I niorr.cd with a scolding wife, 230. 
I mind it weel, in early date, 119. 
I once was a maid, tho' I canaot tell 

when, 46. 
I see a form, I see a face, 166. 
I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 

102. 
If ye gae up to yon hill tap, 54. 
I'll aye ca' in by yon towai, ^07. 
I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 207. 
Ill-fated genius ! HeaVn-tau ;ht Fez- 

gusson, 98. 
I'm three times, doubly, o'er 3 nur debt* 

or, loi. 
In coming by the brigs o' Dyo, 230. 
In Mauchline there dwells six Droper 

young belles, 217, 
In politics if thou wou'.dst mix, 255. 
In sinmier, when the hay was mAwn, 

177. 
In this strange land, tljs uncouth dl/ie, 

135- 
In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are pro^>er 

young men, 8. 
In vain would Prudence, with decorotu 

sneer, 144. 
In wood and wild, ye warbling thr:»ng, 

138. 
Inhuman man ! curse on thy baibar- 

ous art, 95. 
Instead of a Song, boys, I'll give yo« 

a Toast, 253. 
Is there a whim-inspired foo" 257. 
Is there, for honest poverty, aoi. 



INDEX TO THE 

It IS na, Jean, thy bonnie face, 231. 
It was a' for our rightfu' King, 230. 
It was the charming month of May, 

192. 
It was upon a Lamnas night, 195. 



J imie, come try m;, 231. 
Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 184, 
John Anderson, nry Jo, John, 174. 

K 
Kemble, thou cm st my unbelief, 255. 
Ken ye aught of Captain Grose? 205. 
Kilmarnock Walsters, fidge and claw, 

20. 
Kind Sir, IVerei.d your paper through, 

26. 
Know thou, a stranger to the fame, 
256. 

L 
Lament him, Mauchline husbands a*, 

32. 
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 28, 
L?ndlady, count the lawin', 231. 
Lang, lang the night, 194. 
Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 164. 
Ijassie wi' the lint-white locks, 162. 
Last May a bra w wooer cam down the 

lang glen, 167. 
I^te crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, 

«8. 
Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 48, 
Let not woman e'er complain, 193. 
Life ne'er exulted in so lich a prize, 106. 
Lone on the bleaky hills the straying 

flocks, 137, 
Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, 

136. 
Uoud blaw the frosty breezes, 169. 



FIRST LINES. 293 

Louis, what reck I by inee, 181. 

M 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion. 

166. 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave, T45. 
Musing on the roaring ocean, 170. 
My bonnie lass, I work in brass, 48. 
My Chi oris, mark how green the groves» 

192. 
My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 99. 
My Father was a Farmer, upon the 

Carrick border, O, 212. 
My Harry was a gallant gay, 2^. 
My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie 

174- 
My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 181. 
My heart was ance as blythe and free, 

232. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 

is not here, 183. 
My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel, 115. 
My lady's gown there's gairs upon't, 

218. 
My Lord, I know your noble ear, 97. 
My loVd, my honour'd, much-respected 

friend, 59. 
My love, she's but a lassie yet, 231. 
My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 

184. 
My son, these maxims make a rule, 37. 

N 
Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae faiij 

183. 
Nae heathen name shall I prefix, 109. 
No churchman am I, for to rail and to 

write, 197. 
No more, ye warblers of the wood — dp 
more, 113. 

us 



»H INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 


No more of your guests, be they titled 


how shall I, unskilfu', try, 233. 


or not, 114. 


ken ye what Meg 0' the Mill haj 


No more of your titled acquaintances 


gotten, 154. 


boast, 145. 


Kenmure's on and awa, Willie, 233, 


No •culptur'd marble here, nor pomp- 


Lady Mary-Ann, 233. 


ous lay, 118. 


lay thy loof in mine, lass, 219. 


No song nor dance I bring from yon 


leave novels, ye Mauchline belles, 


great city, :o5. 


216. 


No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 254. 


leeze me on my spinnin wheel, 176 


Now bank an' brae are claith'd in 


Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, 155. 


green, 187. 


lovely Polly Stewart, 220. 


Now health forsakes that angel face, 


luve will venture in, where it daut 


64. 


na weel be seen, 178. 


Now in her green mantle blythe Na- 


Mary, at thy window be, 210. 


ture arrays, 163. 


May, thy mom was ne'er sae sweet, 


Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse, 137. 


181. 


i Now Nature hangs her mantle green. 


meikle thinks my luve 0' my beauty. 


^4. 


99- 


Now Robin lies In his last lair, 118. 


merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, 


Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 


234. 


• 140. 

Now spring has clad the groves in 


mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, 


154. 


j^reen, 202. 


mount and go, 233. 


Now westlin winds and slaught'ring 


0, my luve's like a red, red rose, 182. 


guns, 196. 


Philly, happy be that day, 193. 





poortith cauld, and restless love, 153. 


raging Fortune's withering blast, 214. 


aye my wife she dang me, 219. 


rattlin', roarin' Willie, 234. 


bonnie was yon rosy brier, 166, 


rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine, 


cam ye here the fight to shun, 203. 


82. 


can ye labour lea, young man? 148. 


0, sad and heavy should I part, 235. 


could I give thee India's wealth, 138. 


saw ye bonnie Lesley, 213. 


Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody, 


saw ye my dear, my Phely, 191. 


83. 


saw ye ray dearie, my Eppie M'Njifc 


Goudie ! terror 0' the \Vhigs, 128. 


246. 


guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 


stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, 


220. 


165. 


0, had the malt thy strength of mind. 


steer her up, and hand hergaun, 235. 


114. 


that I had ne'er been married, 248. 


how can I be blithe and glad, 188. 


this is no my ain lassie, 166. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



O thou dread power who reign'st 

above, 65. 
O Thou Great Being ! what Thou art, 

66. 
O thou pale Orb, that silent shines, 57. 
O Thou, the first, the greatest friend, 

67. 
O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause, 64. 
O Thou, wha in the Heavens dost dwell, 

251. 
O Thou, who kindly dostp-ovide, 117. 
O thou, whom Poetry abhors, 256. 
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 172. 
O wat ye wha's in yon town, 182. 
O were I on Parnassus' hill, 172. 
O were my love yon lilac fair, 190. 
O wert thou in the cauld blast, 183. 
O wha is she that lo'es me, 205. 
O wha my babie-clouts will buy? 186. 
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

236. 
O whare did ye get that hauver-meal 

bannock, 235. 
O whare live ye, my bonnie lass, 246. 
O what ye wha that lo'es me, 247. 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, 

157- 
O why the deuce should I repine, 220. 
O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 173. 
O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie 

Dunbar, 224. 
O ye wha are sae guid yoursel, 37. 
O ye, whose cheek the tear of pity 

stains, 256. 
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 172. 
Of all the numerous ills that hurt our 

peace, 143. 
Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 

234- 
Oh once I loved a bonnie lass, 161. 



Oh, open the door, some pity to show, 

154- 
Oh Prince ! oh chief of many-throned 

powers, 24. 
Oh ! sweet be thy sleep in the land of 

the grave, 13. 
Old Winter, with his frosty beard, 114. 
On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, 

214. 
On Cessnock banks alassie dwells, 208 
Once fondly loved, and still remeni- 

ber'd dear, 55. 
One night as I did wander, 216. 
One Queen Artemisia, as old stories 

tell, 254. 
Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with 

care, 58. 
Orthodox, orthodox, 138. 
Out over the Forth I look to the north, 

l8q. 
O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone 

mountains straying, 126. 



Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 

140. 
Power, celestials whose protection, 

208. 

R 
Raving winds around her blowing, T70. 
Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 



Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it 

true, 23. 
Robin share in hairst, 220. 

S 
Sad Bird of N ight, what sorrow calls 

thee forth, 145. 
Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 96. 



896 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES, 



Sae flaxen were her ringlets, i6o. 
Say, Sages, what's the charm on earth, 

141. 
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 200. 
See the smoking bowl before us, 49, 
Searching auld wives' barrels, 255. 
She is a winsome wee thing, 152. 
She's fair and fause that causes my 

smart, 178. 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

200. 
Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan 

came, 112. 
Simmer's a pleasant time, 236. 
Sing on, sweet Thrush, upon the leaf- 
less bough, 114. 
Sir, as your mandate did request, loi. 
Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 122, 
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, 47. 
Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest 

creature, 162. 
Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires, 

214. 
Some books are lies frae end to end, 13. 
Some hae meat, and canna eat, 140. 
Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

254- 
Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? 

169. 
Still anxious to secure your partial 

favour, 108. 
Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 84. 
Streams that glide in orient plains, 50. 
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-bum, 

164. 
Sweet flow let, pledge o' meikle love, 

100. 
Sweet naivet^ of feature, 141. 
Sweetest May, let love inspire thee, 

ai6. 



Talk not to me of savages, 141. 

That there is falsehood in his loolc^ 

255- 
The bairns gat out wi' an unco shou^ 

222. 
The blude red rose at Yule may blaw, 

237- 
The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 237. 
The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

173- 
The cooper o' Cuddie cam here awa, 

237- 
The day returns, my bosom bums, 

173. 
The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 

190. 
The friend whom wild from wisdom's 

way, 115. 
The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 

197. 
The grey-beard, old Wisdom, may 

boast of his treasures, 256. 
The King's most humble servant, I, 

245- 
The kirk and state may join, and tell, 

189. 
The lamp of day, with ill-presaging 

glare, 127. 
The lazy mist hangs from the brow of 

the hill, 171, 
The lovely lass o' Inverness, 181. 
The man, in life wherever plac'd, 66. 
The noble Maxwells and their powers, 

238. 
The ploughman he's a bonnie lad, 240, 
The poor man weeps — here Gavin 

sleeps, 256. 
The simple Bard, rough at the iiistlc 

plough, 16. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. ^ 


The small birds rejoice in the green 


There's a youth in this city, it were 3 


leaves returning, 217. 


great pity, 186. 


ITie smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, 


There's auld Rol Morris that wons ii 1 


181. 


yon glen, 151. 


The Solemn League and Covenant, 


There's braw, braw lads on Yanow 


141. 


braes, 153. 


The sun had clos'd the winter day, 32. 


There's naethinglike the honest nap,'y 


The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles 


146. 


an' a', 238. 


There's news, lasses, news, 248. 


ITie tears I shed must ever fall, 249. 


Thickest night, o'erhang my dv\ellijL'ji 


The Thames flows proudly to the sea. 


170. 


176. 


Thine am I, my faithful fair, 159. 


The tither morn, 238. 


Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, 114. 


The wind blew hollow frae the hills, 89. 


This day Time winds th' cxhauslerf 


The * inter it is past, and the simmer's 


chain, 112. 


come at last, 217. 


This wot ye all whom it :oncern, 107. 


The wintry west extends his blast, 59. 


Tho' women's minds, like winter winds, 


Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths 


215- 


among, 118. 


Thou bed, in which I first began, 59. 


Their groves 0' sweet myrtles let foreign 


Thou flattering mark of friendship kind. 


lands reckon, 165. 


142. 


There is death in the cup— sae beware, 


Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 192. 


141. 


Thou ling'ring star with learning ray. 


There lived a carle on Kellybum braes. 


215. 


239- 


Thou of an independent mind, 113. 


There liv'd a lass in yonder dale, 246. 


Thou, who thy honour as thy God »e. 


There was a bonnie lass, and abonnie. 


ver'st, 91. 


bonnie lass, 223. 


Thou whom chance may hither lead. 


There was a lad was born at Kyle, 210. 


36. 


There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 


Though cruel fate should bid us part. 


240. 


184. 


There was a lass, ard she was fair, 156. 


Though fickle Fortune has dcceiv'd 


There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen, 


me, 144. 


Scroggam, 249. 


Thou's welcome, wean ! misuhautei f»' 


There was once a day, but old Time 


me, 128. 


then was young, 202. 


Through and throu^rh tlie inspittd 


There were five Carlins in the south. 


leaves, 142, 


230. 


*Tis Friendship's pledge, my young faii 


I'here werj three Kings into the east. 


friend, iii. 


<«> 


To Riddel, much lanienled man, 143. 



»j8 INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 


' To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome 


When Dy a gen'rous Public's kind «c^ 


1 plains, 219. 


claim, 147. 


True-hearted was he, the sad swain of 


When chapman billies leave the street, 


the Yarrow, 155. 


gi. 


l"um again, thou fair Eliza, 177. 


When chill November's surly blast, 63. 


"1 was eveii —the dewy fields were green. 


When death's dark stream I ferry o'er^ 

118. 
When first I came to Stewart Kyle. 813 


150. 

'Twas in that place 0' Scotland's isle, i. 


Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my 


When first my brave Johnnie lad, 24a 


ruin, 165. 


When Guilford good our pilot £tood,98 


Twas where the birch and sounding 


When I think on the happy days, 246, 


thong are ply'd, 123. 


When Januar* wind was blawing cauld, 


U 


222. 
^Vhen lyart-leaves bestrew the yird, 45. 


Up in the morning's no for me, 184. 


When Nature her great master-pie -« 


Up wi' the carles 0' Dysart, 241. 


design'd, 86. 


Upon that night, when Fairies light. 


When o'er the hill the eastern star, 151. 


40. 


When wild war's deadly blast wa« 




blawn, 211. 


W 


Where are the joys I have met in the 


Wae worth thy power, thou cursed 


morning, 171. 


1 leaf; 143. 


Where, braving angry winter's storms, 


Was e'er pair Poet sae befitted, 146. 


171. 


Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray, 241. 


Where Cart rins rowin to the sea, 201. 


Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower. 


While at the stook the shearers cow'r, 


67. 


120. 


Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 


While briers an' woodbines budding 


5^- 


green, 76. 


V'ee Willie Gray, and his leather 


While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty 


j wallet, 224. 


things, 108. 


I Wha is that at my bower door ? 187. 


While larks with little wing, 156. 


1 Wha will buy my troggin, 244. 


While new-ca'd kye rout at the stakn. 


[ Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 242. 


77. 


; What can a young lassie, 175. 


While virgin spring, by Eden's flooJ, 


i What dost thou in that mansion fair? 


96. 


! 254- 


While wins frae aff Ben-Lomond bLiw, 


What ne^ds this din about the town 0' 


55- 


■' Lon'on, 124. 


Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 254 


;. What will I do gin my Hoggie die, 241. 


Whoe'er thou art, reader, kuaw 


^'hen biting Boreas, fell and doure? 53. 


256. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES. 



*9i 



iVhoe'er thou art, these lines now read- 
ing, 223. 

Whom \ ill you send to London town, 
242. 

Whose is that noble, dauntless brow, 
94. 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly 
scene, 65. 

Why, why tell thy lover, 202. 

Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride, 
142. 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 210. 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 180. 

Wilt thou be my dearie? 159. 

With Pegasus upon a day, 143, 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
105. 



Ye banks and braes and streams around, 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 

173. 
Ye flowery hanks o' bonnie Doon, 179. 
Ye fiiaMai.ts bii-ht, I rcJe you right, 



Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 218. 
Ye holy walls, that still sublime, 146. 
Ye Insh Lords, ye Knightsand Squires, 

6. 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give 

an ear, 245. 
Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this 

sneering, 255. 
Ye sons of old Killie, assembled bv 

Willie, 244. 
Ye true "Loyal Natives." attend to my 

song, 143. 
Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 188. 
Yon wandering rill, that marks the hill, 

218. 
Yon wild mo<sy mountains, sac lofty 

and wide, 187. 
Young Jockey was the blithest lad, 206. 
Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 

209. 
Your News and Review, Sir, I've lead, 

123. 
\'oirre .velcomc to de-pot.- Dumouricr 

216. 
Yours tins mumt:;t 1 uns*. J, 144. 



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